AA-meetings
by ixke
Summary: Brittany and Santana grew up together. Somewhere along the line, they fell in love. It was magic. That was in 2009. Now it's 2015 and Brittany hasn't seen her ex ever since she left the country in the middle of the night. She's dating Christopher now and Santana became a famous model. It's like they never knew each other. But one phone call changes it all. (HAPPY ENDING)
1. A Phone Call

**A phone call**

_2015_

"She's the one that got away."

A soft, melancholic voice reverberates through a nicely decorated office in the middle of a domestic apartment building. Like the fragile, young woman is wandering around in old memories. Like the ghost of that perfect person from the past appears once more and flares up a dreamy face. It makes the heart rush and one nanosecond later, it abruptly causes it to stop. Because the truth makes it brutally clear that the exact same time that whatever it is that's got that smiling started, it fades away and gets replaced with heartache and a nagging, indescribable feeling of missing someone.

"Literally, actually." the same voice suddenly elaborates. "Her name is Santana. She left the country when her father got offered some professor gig at some university in Belgium four years ago. He's an arts teacher. A good one, apparently."

The older man listening to the dreamy rambling softly smiles, maybe even unable to be noticed by anyone. Not that there's anyone else to notice. It's just the two of them. Sitting quietly. Talking about what seems to be important in life. He doesn't stop her. As the matter of fact, he's intrigued by whatever it is she'll say next.

"I was so sure she was the love of my life. We did everything together: started kindergarten together, went to junior high together, worked towards graduation together, … By the time we found ourselves in love, we were both just like: 'Oh, okay, that makes sense'. There was no drama, no fear of what we were going through, no doubt. She just smiled at me and it calmed my heart. I had just turned sixteen when we first kissed. She was my everything, you see. She had beautiful, dark, shinny hair. And her eyes were so deeply, hypnotically brown that, when you stared into them, you never expected to find a way out, until she blinked. A blink set you free. Once that happened, you were sorry it did. Don't get me started about her body …"

A soft scoffing happens, like the memory itself makes sure the goosebumps get their work done immediately. The person sitting across the room is holding a notebook, but instead of writing things down, he just pats the classic pen against his oversized glasses and reveals a soft, enchanted smile.

"You've been coming to my practice for about two years now. How come you've never mentioned this before?" he calmly, neutrally asks in a husky voice.

"Because she called me yesterday. And I didn't pick up. And I don't know what that means."

The man still holds on to his notebook and sighs in search for answers.

"As a therapist, I'd say we'd have to talk about it next week."

He puts down his working tool and sits up straight, giving the impression the session is over, but then suddenly, his body freezes, in a twist to reveal a nagging judgement: "But as a man of my age, judging by the fact that you can't even pronounce her name without flinching after four years, I'd say you clearly haven't processed what happened."

The blonde woman, barely through her twenties, forces a smile - as painful as it is. He's wrong. It's been four years now. That part of her past should mean nothing to her anymore. But instead of picking up like grownups do, she deliberately missed the call and now that excruciating phase of constant wondering and curiosity just won't go away.

* * *

An hour later she's seated across her notoriously kind boyfriend. His name is Christopher. They've been an item for a year now. The boy has a charming appearance. Nice teeth, good body, curly blond hair and brown eyes. But that's not what draws her to him. It's his sincere smile and the meaningful opinions whenever they have a conversation. Even when they fight, he remains respectful to her. Few men carry that quality inside of them.

Her thoughts are not with him though. The coffee in front of her hasn't been warm for a solid ten minutes anymore, yet the cup remains filled-up. There's a conversation going on, but it's one-sided. Christopher is talking to himself. His girlfriend is too occupied in her own mind, thinking about that phone call that never actually happened. Processing it. Obsessing over it. Picturing it in her mind. Hating it.

"Brittany … Brittany!"

The woman blinks before she realizes where she's at exactly. Starbucks. They went to Starbucks for a coffee. Hoping that he won't turn the overanalyzing part of his personality in overdrive, she fakes a dreamy smile and pats his hand.

"I'm just a bit tired." she tells him before any question slips his mouth.

He takes that explanation without overthinking it. Sometimes it's hard for her to accept that. She used to have tremendous fights over little, meaningless details with her ex. Vases and teddybears would fly across the room, awaiting their innocent deaths. _That_ was fighting! At the time, she hated it. But once it was gone, she couldn't stop missing it.

"I have to get back to work now. The costumers are probably waiting at the door already. Susan's not here yet?"

Christopher squints his eyes to scan the area around their table. When he does that, it always strikes Brittany how much of his Asian ancestors have hidden their nearly visible genes in his blood. That makes him even more mysteriously attractive, though. After getting up and simultaneously checking his watch, he shrugs apologetically. His lips peck hers quickly, in a hurry.

"I'm sorry, I have to go or I'll be late."

She pats him on the chest and assures him it'll all be fine: "Susan's always late, I have my phone to keep me company."

After that, he makes his departure. Her freaky sometimes blue, sometimes green eyes observe the walk that eventually allows her boyfriend to disappear from her sight. That's when it's safe for her to finally start staring at the phone that started it all. How come she never once changed her number after the famous split of 2011? Somehow, she had always hoped this day would come. The day when Santana would finally call back. Now here it is and she's terrified of the consequences. Curious fingers linger over the smartphone's apps, like the brain that controls them is not making up its choice. Those damn phones can do so much nowadays. They have caller ID. Area codes. Country codes. And Brittany happens to know the country code of Belgium. It's 0032. It's has a population of ten million, but it can only be one person.

"Hey Pierce girl. There you are. Have I kept you waiting?" an unnaturally, overly happy voice suddenly interrupts the intensive inner conversation going on inside Brittany's head.

She turns around and faces one of her dearest friends and coworker, Susan Doyle. The black girl passes the common pleasantries and goes straight for the cookie placed in front of Brittany's cup of coffee.

"You always do, Sue. And that was my lunch."

Her friend demonstrates a disapproving frown and runs some fingers through her extremely short hair as the last crumbles of a chocolate cookie disappear inside of her mouth.

"That's not lunch. It has no vitamins, no nutritional value. You should be thankful that I ate it for you."

An amused Brittany bites her lower lip: "Not exactly how I would describe the way I'm feeling about that, right now."

Before there's time for ongoing teasing, she's dragged on her feet by the overly active twenty six year old and guided to a cosy little restaurant two blocks away from her beloved Starbucks.

Once the two ladies are seated, a nagging - yes, that same nagging - feeling of conflicted emotions rises up inside the calmer one of them.

"What's wrong?" Susan asks attentively.

"Why should there be anything wrong?"

The clever response is not being received well: "You've had that menu in your hand for about ten minutes and I bet you can't name one thing that's on it."

Brittany's eyes shoot to sneak a peek, but her friend's hands are quicker to obtain the piece of plasticized paper. The dark blonde is not giving up that easy, though, so she squints her eyes, just like her boyfriend would do, and opens her mouth: "Bacon sandwich."

There's enough noise in the room to soften Susan's scoffing. Her eyes roll down the menu and before throwing it back in her friend's direction, she shrugs in an unsupportive way.

"That's on every menu card around here. But fine, since that's the thing you've set your mind on, I'll order you a bacon sandwich."

She then puts her index finger up in the air, extremely determined to catch a waiter's attention, but soon enough, Brittany stops her.

"No, wait. I hate bacon."

The vindictive smile of the dark skinned woman seated across reflects victory, but Brittany decides not to get affected by it. Instead, she tries to make a lunch decision - that's hard enough as it gets.

Susan takes a look around the place. There are couples having romantic lunches, old people wasting lost hours by observing the generations that came from them, children who should probably be at school at this hour and loners enjoying a boring lunch. The waiters are anxiously trying to get the work done, sweat is putting a shiny layer on their foreheads. She remembers those high school days when she used to be a waitress. It was terrible.

By the time her head turns back towards her colleague, those eyes still seem to struggle with making a choice.

"Are you kidding me? You always order a Caesar salad."

She bends over and her expression demonstrates the agonizing level of hunger that's about to divulge her.

"Order the Caesar salad!"

Brittany throws her hands indulgently up in the air and therefor drops the menu: "Okay."

A nearby waiter takes their order and returns quickly with their sodas. Another ten minutes later, the food arrives. One tuna salad. One Caesar salad.

"Now tell me," Susan says as she swallows a piece of tomato, "what's on your mind? Is it Christopher? Has he finally been a dick, like all men?"

It makes her good friend laugh. Susan has quite an interesting view on men. Probably since she always picks out the horrible ones. The cheaters, the liars, the married ones, … There is a whole other world of decent men she has yet to discover.

"Okay, listen. You know that story about how the father of one of my exes got me into Sanford, right?"

Susan drops her fork in a dramatically entertaining way and sighs out loud: "Not the story about how you went to Stanford again, is it? I've heard that one a _million_ times before."

Brittany laughs amused but shakes her head soon enough to calm Susan down.

"No, Sue, seriously. That ex called me yesterday. I haven't heard from Santana in four years."

Resumed with feeding herself, Susan throws her a curious look: "And? What did he say?"

Brittany bites her teeth and smirks: "I didn't pick up. And_ he_'s a _she_."

The face of her dinner date does not move a muscle. It gets wiped clean with a napkin and that said napkin gets put down next to a half empty plate. Susan uses her tongue to free her teeth from a little piece of lettuce and subsequently frown in a confused way.

"Say what now?"

Brittany chuckles over the comical response and sighs. She never lied about her former experiences with girls, it just hadn't come up in her past with this particular friend. She always mentioned her ex when the topic Stanford was being discussed, but because she felt the need to block out as many memories as possible about that time, the required information and details about the person she once loved so much were always suppressed.

"_Her_ name was Santana. She was … Well, I thought she was the love of my life." Brittany explains while staring at her fingers, still holding on to the knife and fork. "We met in kindergarten and I think I loved her from the very first day."

Susan's appetite has disappeared. All there's left inside the curved body is curiosity that could jump outside of her in the form of a hungry tiger. She needs to know _everything_ about this.

"She left me - dumped me pretty much - a month or so before I was going to Stanford. Her father got offered a teacher position in Belgium, where he met her mother met many year ago, and she left with him. Disappeared like a thief in the night. One last perfect night together and when I woke up the next morning, she was out of the country. Deleted her social media and all."

The person across the table has her green eyes pointed at her with an intense compassion. A soft sigh reverberates.

"That's fucked up."

Brittany nods, hurting a bit inside due to that memory.

"Anyway. She called me and now I can't stop thinking about _why_ she called me. I've been mad a her ever since she got on that plane and refused to tell me the truth in advance. All I got were postcards, with no returning address. Just her name and an X underneath a shallow text describing her life there."

"Why didn't you pick up? It was the perfect time to ask."

Brittany has thought about that same thing a million times since the last phone ring died last night. She has hated herself for not picking up, just to be proud as hell a second later.

"She broke my heart, Sue. The second I would've picked up that phone and heard her voice, it would've broken again."

Susan's head is being supported by her hand by now, like she's listening to a novelist reading his own work out loud: "That sounds dramatic. But I like dramatic stories."

Doesn't she.

Brittany sits up in her chair and pushes back a larger part of her blonde hair. Her fingers nervously tap the table a few times before she dares to speak what's on her mind.

"Do you know what's funny. Christopher and I were just at Starbucks and he saw that there was something going on, like you did."

"It's not that difficult to read it off your face, girl. You look like you've killed your own dog by accident. That makes it unquestionably _not_ funny. Work on your sense of humor, girl."

Some objecting hand gestures stop the woman from talking more.

"The thing is - he saw it and he didn't even ask about it. Given, I told him rather rapidly that I was fine, but come on, not even a stupid try. There's no conflict with him and that's so, so easy. It's so welcoming and perfect and …"

"Boring?" Susan adds convinced about her choice of words.

She gets slapped against the elbow.

"No. Or yes. I don't know. All I know is that I immediately thought about Santana. And you see, Santana does this to me. She has always done this to me. She sneaks up in my head and builds, like, a little nest inside of it."

Her hands gather some of the napkins and papers spread across the table to rebuild an actual interpretation of a nest. Susan carefully watches.

"And then she waits until that exact perfect moment, when Christopher does something that used to be different with her and _bam_!"

Brittany's flat hand destroys the improvised nest with a firm slap, which makes the cutlery and plates bounce blatantly and scares Susan more than actually intended. Some waiters look their way, but Brittany quickly apologizes for the noise.

"She pops up like it's nothing. She imprints the memory of herself in my consciousness and stays there for the rest of the day. And while Christopher has done absolutely nothing wrong, she makes me believe he did. That bitch."

Shaken up about the crazy vibe Brittany's sending out, Susan puts her hand on top of her friend's: "You know she doesn't actually do that, right? It's your own mind that creates that vision of her."

Brittany throws her hands in front of her face and growls annoyed.

"God. I knew this would happen. He just drives me crazy by acting so indifferent sometimes. Like he's not even interested in what's going on inside of my head at the exact time I need him the most. And when I'm simply struggling with making a random decision about whether I should take the green paint or the blue paint, he nearly drags me to a therapist."

"That's a male thing. You should stick with girls if you want everything to be overanalyzed and have elaborate conversations about your periods."

"Point is," Brittany raises her voice in an attempt to actually prove her point, "Santana was completely different. She knew me inside out. And I knew her, at least that's what I thought. I knew that no matter what, she'd always make me laugh hardest. You know, the embarrassing, snoring kind. And I knew every twirl in her shinny hair, every freckle on her caramel skin, every spark in her beautiful eyes. She was gorgeous, breathtakingly gorgeous."

Susan whistles softly and bites her lower lip: "Divine kind?"

Her friend picks up the soda and sighs like she's sixteen and in love again.

"You have no idea."

But then Brittany gets sucked back to the moment with Christopher earlier on. It's suddenly crystal clear why exactly she thought about Santana so intensively right after he didn't say a thing to comfort her.

"She was the most beautiful when she was angry. Angry with me, actually, because she'd look straight into my eyes and the pureness of her rage, of her unchallenged fury, would bare her soul open for me to read. And that's when I saw the simplicity of who she was exactly. The second we kissed, I knew it'd be like living a fairytale romance during a war. She is terrible, untamable, reckless, unpredictable, ... But I always knew that at the end of the road, the bliss was worth the pain. I think I miss that."

Susan, always ready to skip to the interesting subtext, throws in a question: "She'd get angry a lot?"

Memories find their long lost place back into Brittany's mind as she plays around with the soda in front of her.

"Not a lot. But when she did - man, she could burst like a volcano, you know? She'd get irrational and hysterical and crazy all at once. Sometimes she'd throw stuff at me or wipe an entire table clean in one sweep. Santana is nothing if not passionate. Even a fight had to be like going to war with her. Not the Cold War. World War Two or something."

Surprisingly, that makes her smile. She misses those intense clashes. They were part of their relationship, it made it feel so very real.

"Did she ever hurt you during one of these fights?"

Brittany points her eyes, colored a darker green than blue in this dark room, in Susan's direction and shakes her head very convincingly: "Oh, God no. Never. That's the one thing she'd never do, I guess. She'd break her favorite mirror or rip the head off her most beloved teddybear, but whenever she threw something my way, she made damn sure she'd miss."

An amused grin accepts the explanation while she wanders of to a reality where Christopher gets totally forgotten.

"So, basically, you're telling me that you rather have a psychotic girlfriend that torpedoes dangerous object to your head instead of a perfect boyfriend?"

The two of them chuckle, and that allows the opportunity to not answer the question honestly. A short silence takes place where Brittany shuts her green eyes to rationalize her feelings.

"We were young, we were foolish, we were overly emotional about a lot of things. Especially Santana. It runs in the family, though. Lopez speciality."

As a waiter cleans the table and throws that seemingly troubled blonde sitting in front of him a doubtful look, Susan nods. Love drama is her speciality. A boyfriend usually last a month, but man, does she have books to write about the stuff happening behind the scenes. After a couple of seconds, her eyes flare up to Brittany, though. Like she just put the pieces of the puzzle together.

"Wait? Santana Lopez? As in the Victoria Secret model?"

Brittany nervously chuckles and has a drink. That's when her previously strict exterior softens up, and her faint smile carries a spark of pride.

"Yeah, she might have been a model too."

* * *

After a long day, filled with brutally honest lunches and a shitload of work, Brittany decides to head home. The apartment where she lives is located at the East part of town. Christopher's been renting it for years and briefly after they started dating, she received a key from her ever too kind boyfriend. Technically, she's not officially a resident, but the lack of discussing boundaries has made her one. The room is decorated with pictures of them. Happy, smiling, looking into each other's eyes. Brittany sighs over the memories they bring along, the precious moments they've shared thus far. But nothing feels right or normal today. Not even the air in the apartment. Her fingers push the play button of the smartphone she put in the speakers a moment before, and a mild upbeat song starts playing. She needs to relax for a second. What better to do than cooking with wine? Maybe she'll even add some of it to the food. She jumps into the sweatpants that hang over a chair around the dinner table and light-footedly makes her way over to the kitchen in search for possible ingredients. Cookies. She's determined to bake some cookies. Her hips start wiggling to the sound of her favorite playlist. It's fast enough to keep dancing, yet not too fast to get her exhausted. Butter, sugar, flour, eggs and chocolate chips. Check. Some bowl get filled with the edible goods, yet Brittany can't refrain from running up and down the speaker a couple of times to turn up the volume. It's an old playlist she's listening to. There a songs that originate from her teenage phase. Songs she used to dance her ass off to. Secretly, she still does.

The place is overcome with loud music vibes and a hard bass when she vividly starts dancing around the place.

The memory of Santana' missed call keeps haunting the blonde beauty and this isn't helping. It takes her back to a time where careers weren't even real yet, just a perfect future illusion. Dancing and having fun was important. Going out and getting drunk without being caught was amazing. How she would like to feel amazing again. The color of the chocolate faintly remind her of Santana' caramel skin and for a second, she wonders if that's racist. Then she gets caught into the music again. The song currently playing has been one of the many favorites she and her high school love shared. They'd put on their smoothest socks, pull up their pants and dance around the polished wooden floor at Santana' house for hours. It was so much fun being around her. Exhausting as well, but that was okay. Because being with Santana was like flirting with a version of danger itself. It was like she was a roaring fire, and the only way to get to her was by getting burned. And guess what? Brittany didn't care. She never did. Not once. The burning part was addictive. Like the fighting she told Susan about earlier. It was terrible and loud and hurtful, but so worth it. It was just a thing they did, you see. Fighting in an expressive way did it for them.

Just like the dancing.

Brittany throws her hands up in the air the second her dough is perfected and starts jumping up and down the couches in the nearby living room. She hasn't felt this ridiculously young in ages and it's liberating. Her voice screams the lyrics until it transcends the actual music while wiggling her butt sensationally to the rhythm. There's nothing more beautiful than the joyous, carefree smile that lights up her entire face. One hand holds back the blonde, long locks of hair that dare to intrude her visibility and in her mind, Santana appears in front of her. For the first time in years, it doesn't depress her. Not even a split second. She surprisingly jumps back in her past like nothing has happened. Nothing bad enough to destroy the perfect memory of her ex-girlfriend.

Out of nowhere, without any indication, the blustery music stops. All there's left is silence and a confused Brittany quickly turns around, positioned on top of the soft pillows of the couch. Her heart stops beating for a second. She finds a flabbergasted Christopher staring at her. He too, has finished work. He didn't, however, expect to find his girlfriend hysterically singing and dancing on top of his furniture.

"You scared me to death." Brittany laughs, silently feeling guilty about the trip down memory lane she just experienced.

But Christopher smirks and watches her crawl off the couch in a hurry.

"You did too, with that dancing." he points out.

She hesitantly smiles and runs some fingers through her hair, hoping it'll look less wild than she imagines. He takes out his jacket and bends over to kiss her gently on the lips.

"What's gotten into you? Baking cookies and dancing around the house like a kid, I've never seen you do anything like that before."

But Brittany finds a way to slide back into her alleged role as a decent girlfriend and shrugs: "The things I do when you're not at home …"

She mysteriously winks and playfully pokes his shoulder. He seems rather unimpressed though. The blonde woman wonders if he didn't even consider, for a second, to jump on the couch with her. Just to dance off the stress from work and momentarily forget how much of a grown-up they are supposed to be. Something tells her he didn't. Christopher's just not that guy. Raised by a far descendant of a traditional Asian family, the core values of his strict ancestors tradition still linger in the roots of his behavior. He's forty kinds of sweet and patient to the point that it annoys Brittany about how long it takes before he picks a fight, but he's also preserved and cautious. Not once will he take a risk at doing something thoughtless and that's just as impressive as it is safe. But it's also boring. And Brittany forgot, along the way, how much she dislikes boring.

"How was work?" he asks interested.

His girlfriend shrugs once more: "Nothing special. It was busy. But I was a bit distracted, to be honest."

He walks into the kitchen to discover the ravage of Brittany's momentarily act of spontaneity and sighs in a way to calm himself down.

"I'll clean it up later." she quickly promises after following his footsteps.

Her upper body leans into the doorway, where she remains staring at him. The young man reaches for a bottle of beer in the refrigerator. He offers her one as well, but she declines. The cap gets lifted off the glass and after taking a big draught of the cold beverage, he smiles.

"What were you distracted by?" he finally asks.

Brittany's surprised he even picks up on it. Normally, he avoids the serious things and questions the trivial details. Maybe she should tell him the truth. After all, she hasn't done anything wrong. It's just Santana, calling her. That used to be the most normal thing in the world.

"I got a phone call from an ex." she informs him, slightly cutting off the edges of the story.

But something suddenly tells her not to mention the part about her freaking out about it.

"It - um - surprised me, that's all."

He remains annoyingly calm after hearing the words. All he does is poke the dough a few times with his index finger. She pushes him aside in a well-intended way and divides the mass over a buttered-up tray that's about to disappear into the preheated oven.

Christopher has another sip and subsequently coughs.

"Did you pick up?" he wonders out loud.

Is this guy actually interested or just jealous? Brittany can't tell. She shakes her head, but refrains from looking at him: "No. I didn't."

Somehow, a fight will come from this. She feels it in her bones. These things always lead to massive fights.

But Christopher nods contently and smirks: "Good. That's good."

He walks over to her to kiss her left cheek and then walks away to sit down and watch the news, leaving this straightforward and emotional conversation before it even happened. Brittany's eyes stare at his indifference before she frowns, not sure if she should feel relieved or offended.

Well, that's a way of solving things …

* * *

**I'm back, people. Hope you'll like this one ;)**


	2. After hours

**After hours**

_2015_

* * *

It's summer, but that doesn't stop the earth from spraying a cold breeze over the land. As Brittany is wrapped in a warm hoodie, casually dressed instead of neatly styled, she makes her way over to her parents' company. Every since she was a little, blonde girl, becoming part of the movie industry has been her lifetime goal. Her mom and dad inherited a movie company called Pierce Movies ten years ago, when granddad and grandma decided to step back and enjoy their much deserved retirement. All she has ever known is being on sets and watching actors give their best and worst performances. There's something magical about the industry. The way imaginary worlds are created, how written words can be uttered to warm hearts or break them, how the chemistry between actors can spark off the screen. Brittany had always believed in true love. The fact that she fell in love with her best friend only intensified that belief. Until she was left alone, of course, and Santana took off as if they had never meant anything to one another. Ever since then, she finds trouble in reading romantic scripts and capturing them perfectly on film.

By the time she arrives at the studios, she finds Hal 5 transformed into a replica of a suburban house. In the movies you get the entire image, but standing in front of it discolors the magic of it all. Sets have a maximum of three walls. There is no such thing as a ceiling, because that's where the lights and the microphones are installed. And apart from outdoor scenes, shot at carefully selected locations, the sunshine streaming through every window is nothing more than some professional lighting powers of experienced people. She looks over to some actors, running their lines once more in whispers, standing on their designated X-marks on the floor, while makeup artists patch up their faces. The overweight director is seated in his stereotypical chair, waiting for every single one of the crew to wrap up their tasks. He looks annoyed. From experience, Brittany can tell that most directors look annoyed.

Brittany's blonde hairs twirl through the air as she enters a nearby room unannounced. It's her parents' office, where all the big decisions are being made. More importantly, it's where her mom's waiting for that much deserved cup of tea Brittany stacked away in a paper bag. Both her mom and dad raise a curious eye when the noise of a widely opened medal door reaches their ears, and only after they discover their own flesh and blood standing in front of them, they start reacting enthusiastically.

"Brittany." her mom sighs, with a touch of happiness so sweet that it warms her daughter's heart instantly. "I haven't seen you in ages."

"I was here yesterday, mom." the lady protests after quickly checking her phone.

She distributes coffee, tea and kisses and takes a seat in the leather couch facing the crammed desks, where her parents assign, accept and manage the business. Sure, they aren't Warner Bros or Paramount Pictures, but the family company has been participating in the relentless, hard world of showbiz for decades now. It's known in circles as the only one left with moral integrity and compassion. Somewhere deep inside, Brittany hopes it's not exactly true.

"Well." the older lady protests. "You haven't been around much this year, have you. Always flying to some movie set, leaving your parents behind."

The touch of drama is a bit exaggerated - must be because of the fictional world they live in. Sure, Brittany's schedule is pretty occupied, but she's home at lot too, in between projects. When you aspire to be a big name one day, you can't just wander around town and expect it to be thrown at you.

"When will my little girl start playing for her own team?" her dad asks.

The ambiguity of her father's expression gets lost in some giggling from the female part of the company, while Brittany gets up and rolls her eyes over that same old question.

"After I've made editor. I want to accomplish something before I play on daddy's ground for the rest of my life."

He clearly disagrees: "You can skip a few steps when you work here. No more listening to elder assistants or editors."

"Experienced assistants and editors." she correct him while taking a sip of coffee. "And you know it's a big deal to work with them."

Her fingers curiously flip through the pages of a script that's lying in front of her. Once in a while, she frowns disapprovingly over what she finds printed. Her father gives in by softening the tension around his brown eyes and smiles simultaneously: "You are way too soft for this world. Any other editor would kill for an opportunity to get ahead so fast."

"Being your daughter has already helped me a lot." she confesses. "I'm already way ahead of the competition."

His daughter first checks the 'tired of all the nonsense' expression of her mother and then turns her head towards him. She giggles but simultaneously surrounds herself in complete silence. They've been over this a million times. She's been to Stanford for a reason: to achieve in life, not to cheat. What can she learn by immediately starting at the top? Nothing, it'll only prove her lack of experience an that would result in destroying her entire career at once. She has thought things through, you see. There's a plan she's determined to follow. Always has been. And she will.

"I have to go to San Fransisco again by the end of the week. Check the screenplay, discuss which actors we're interested in."

"That new movie of yours?" her mother asks in a calm, yet interested voice.

The woman never stops going through papers and contracts. Her majestic hairdo wiggles along with her movements. She looks gorgeous for a fifty-three year old. Brittany shakes her head and gets on her feet again: "No, a show this time. It's a bit of a crowdfunding thing. They're still looking at the options."

Honestly, the script is amazing, even Brittany can tell. But finding the right people to finance and manage it is always the hardest part. Surprisingly, some terrible movies that make it to the cinemas get funded like it's nothing.

"Now I have to go. Lots of work to do before I leave. An editor's work is never done." she proudly and dramatically declares after hearing another email alert on her phone.

Her father scoffs amusingly: "An assistant editor."

She fakes a vindictive smirk and proceeds with throwing kisses in the air.

"Are you coming over for dinner tomorrow night?" her mother asks, finally looking up from the paperwork.

She even stops writing for a second. The younger version of herself freezes on her way out and puts her head back in the doorway.

"No, I'm meeting David. It's been a lifetime since I saw him."

Her parents turn their heads towards each other. Their little girl is meeting David. That could mean trouble. Thing is, they picked her up and glued the pieces back together when she fell apart after Santana left her all those years ago. Because even David started taking some distance after Santana left. Being a person in the middle of the drama made him feel uncomfortable. But her parents, they have seen their little girl at the edge of an actual heartbreak. She cried until they worried that she'd never run out of tears. They stood outside her bedroom, staring at the door, while listening to the agonizing ways Brittany could cry. And there was absolutely nothing they could do about it.

* * *

David's one of the best friends Brittany ever had. They've known each other since kindergarten, right when she got introduced to the now famous Santana Lopez. See, the thing is: David and Santana are cousins. His father and her father are brothers. To make things even more complicated, they all used to live in the same house. It had been that way since both their mothers died at a very young age. Raised by a pack of men, grandfather included, the youngsters of the house found joy in playing rough games and climbing trees most of the time. Santana's hair was a mess until she started coming over at Brittany's house. Her own very feminine mother would braid her dark hair and free the semi-adoptive child from interference during playing around. The kids were practically inseparable. Wherever Brittany went, Santana followed and the other way around. They transferred to the same middle _and_ high school, never even questioning if another one would be better. It simply wasn't an option. And David, he just tagged along, with his younger brother Eli.

When Brittany notices him sitting patiently in a bar, she joyfully raises her hand to draw his attention. The place is so crowded that she just barely recognizes him. Mister handsome looks up and smiles amusingly, directing her to come over. Brittany determinately makes her walk through the crowd, stopping briefly once in a while to say hello to an old friend. The green-eyed boy resumes a conversation he seems to be having with someone sitting next to him, but Brittany's view is blocked by a stranger's massive head. By the time she reaches the table, her fists have crawled to the sides of her hips to expose her staggered impression. It's Susan, sipping the straw of a cocktail, and staring into David's green eyes. He seems impressed, until he notices Brittany standing next to them.

"Oh, my God! You haven't changed a bit." he enthusiastically utters while getting off his seat.

They haven't seen each other in over a year.

His lips kiss her cheek and instead of teasing Susan about her overly curious nature, she drops the act and wraps her arms around his neck.

"I have missed you so much. My famous journalism star, how have you been?"

"I'm just a blogger." he corrects her.

She shrugs: "Still pretty famous."

Before he can stop himself, he says the words: "Runs in the family."

There's an awkward silence that gets resolved quickly. They let go of each other and sit down on the last two available chairs there are to find in this place. A playful poke from the elbow allows Susan to welcome her friend to the gathering.

"I bet you introduced yourself to David already?" Brittany says in a way to provoke the dark skinned beauty.

But David's social skills kick in and he points to the girl across the table for an explanation.

"Susan heard you were to meet me tonight and instead of spending the night at home, like a true boring person would do, she decided to take a chance and tag along."

He doesn't mind at all that she's here. In fact, a few cocktails have been consumed already and they've reached the point of knowing enough about each other to calls themselves temporary friends. But the blonde one of the company shakes her head disapprovingly and clenches her teeth for a second.

"Miss Curiosity found out I had a thing with your cousin Santana Lopez and she's all about the details, so she stalked me."

That comment is not being appreciated, because as the words have just left her mouth, the person on her right pats her shoulder.

"I don't stalk!" Susan objects. "I get overly invested in discovering the entire story, that's all. And I happened to read your text messages yesterday."

As the blonde perfects her judgmental killer look, David smirk and looks directly into Susan's eyes: "You sound like a journalist. I like that."

"Some of us have dreams, Writer Boy." Brittany teases him after she gratefully thanks the waiter for the drinks he leaves at the table. "She's part of the film crew of my new project."

Some guys blatantly pass their table and check out the women seated around it. A confident Susan winks at one of them, which makes the muscled G.I. Joe lookalike shy.

"I don't want to talk about Santana tonight. She's - um … I don't feel like it. All I want to do tonight is drink and get completely wasted, like monumentally fucked, and certainly _not_ think about her."

The boisterous area takes some of the worry away, along with a good sip of beer. The second dreamy, hurtful eyes accidentally cross those of a patient David, she sighs. He knows her best - the longest. She used to be shelterless and relentless. There were no secrets, no subtext, no regrets. Now there's nothing left but those exact same things.

"I remember this." David suddenly whispers, loud enough to hear, though. "Next thing you know, she'll order some shots."

An accusing finger points his way, together with a challenged voice: "Don't make me …"

* * *

Time passes and they talk about work and family. They have three other drinks, which lightens up the mood. The G.I. Joe guy from earlier starts a silent flirting conversation with Brittany, but it's mostly one-sided. She experiences it as a distraction, a nice getaway from the world she definitely doesn't want to be reminded of right now.

Apart from the strangely amusing tension between the two old friends from kindergarten, the lingering curiosity of the third wheel fails to stay hidden. Her fingers refrain from keeping still. All they do is tap the top of the table incessantly. It reminds Brittany of Santana. She used to do the exact same thing.

"Oh, come on. I dressed up nicely. I did my hair." she suddenly bursts.

But Brittany disagrees with a overly amused sense of sarcasm: "You have no hair."

Patting herself on the head helps reminding herself that shorthaired people can in fact have many hairdos. It's just not as sensational as the other hairstyles.

"Point is: I made an effort. I had to make an effort to break into your phone and track this place down. I started talking to three other men before I found David this evening. I want to know about Santana."

Her name is enough to freeze the air in the room and stop Brittany's heartbeat. It's just a word, it's not even the real person, but it's enough to drag her back to that part of her life when she thought it would never get better again. When Santana took off in the middle of the night and broke her fucking heart. She had never felt that broken before, so lost and incomplete. It took her a month to finally stop crying. David knows that. He has seen the worst of her. The worst that Santana brought upon her. That's why he decided to take a step back, around that same time. Because he couldn't understand what his cousin had done to this gorgeous girl.

In a surprising twist of events, Brittany gives in with a sigh: "Fine. What do you want to know? It's because she's a supermodel, right?"

But Susan objects: "That's just an extra interesting part about the story. I'm not surprised you would fool around with women, though you never did tell me that about yourself."

It comes out accusingly, but in a friendly way. An amused Brittany just smiles and sits back, licking her upper lip. The male part of the threesome keeps his mouth shut and enjoys what's left of his beer, before ordering another round. They are slowly starting to feel the buzz of the alcohol and it feels great.

By finally be granted the permission to shoot the questions, the relentless nature of Susan comes bursting out. She straightens her back, as a job interview would require, and claps her hands in all her enthusiasm. Brittany can't stop smiling over her friend.

"How was it, being with a girl, being with her?"

Brittany is being observed as she puts her fingers around the bottle in front of her and gets carried away to a time she had thought of so little lately. It doesn't mean she forgot a single detail about it, though. She remembers _everything_, the second she tries. It comes naturally. Everything involving Santana comes naturally. The girl was hypnotizing. Addictive.

"It was strange." she quietly starts. "I'd stay over at her dad's house all day and all night and when the time came to go home, I didn't want to. Like I hadn't had enough of her yet. But at the same time, it was … magical."

The feeling gets expressed with a convincing hand gesture. Like Brittany's trying to reenact the action of a bomb explosion.

"Each time we saw each other again, it was like looking in the mirror and finding that part of me that was missing all along."

David clears his throat and gets pulled back into the memory as well. He stood nearby them for so long, during all the phases of their relationship. He knows just how crazy they were about each other.

"A girl that answered you questions with quotes from Finding Nemo and Mulan will forever be your favorite, won't she?"

He looks at Brittany and catches her pained smirk. She told him that once. Looks like he remembers. Susan gets lost in the familiar interaction, but decides to ignore it for now. There are more important questions to be asked before Brittany gets the chance to shut the subject off and get all emotional. She couldn't stand seeing her pretty, white friend cry. She's not a pretty cryer. There are only a few that carry it off nicely.

"So it was pretty epic?" she asks in an attempt to reboot the conversation.

"We had this kind of love that people write about and turn into movie scenes." Brittany romantically smiles, using her own job experience to describe it perfectly.

David sees the irony in that: "Funny. That's exactly what you're doing now, aren't you?"

"I don't write the movies, dear. I just edit the camera work." Brittany corrects him.

Susan takes a brief look around and spies the G.I. Joe still staring at her secretive bisexual friend. She winks at him again, which makes his company chuckle.

"Okay. Next question. Are you over her? I mean … She seemed to mean a lot to you."

The silence coming from the hurt woman next to her deafens the crowd present in the same room. Brittany has never really thought about that before. Ever since Santana left, the only emotion she experienced when it came to her was hate. And anger. Rage. Confusion too. The first few months, she had always hoped Santana would change her mind and come back. In her mind, she would miss her girlfriend too much to be away from her so long. She was wrong. Even her supermodel career, which made her even more visible and noticeable than necessary, didn't bring her back in the right direction. Sure, Santana went around the world probably, literally passing her home town once in a while. But she never visited. And as time went by, Brittany's hate grew stronger. She forgot to stare at the ads and billboards where models were displayed. She refrained from going through every magazine like a detective. For a while, it seemed that even her photos disappeared. And so missing her became easier, because she wasn't constantly reminded of her face. And her perfect body.

"You know what's depressing? We used to be best friends. Friends that told each other everything, even the embarrassing stuff. She was supposed to be the love of my life. And suddenly, she's nothing but a distant memory - a person I'd probably pass if we'd cross along the street downtown. How's that possible, right? How do you just erase such a part of your life? In all honesty, I think that, if I _would_ run into her at some point, and she'd smile at me or wave, all my emotions, all the pain would not allow me to act natural. I'd turn around and run away. I don't think that I'll ever stop hating her."

David closes his eyes for a second and regrets to have ever heard that comment.

"I thought I was going to marry her. I was wrong." Brittany suddenly day-dreams, getting pulled back into her emotions by all the memories.

The cousin of the so called demon sighs uncomfortably and cups her free hand to show his compassion: "Who said she wasn't going to do that?"

Intrigued eyes stare into his. They are confused and overwhelmed at once. What is he talking about?

"And you, you're her cousin. Don't you know anything about it?" Susan suddenly interrupts, addressing her question to David.

He shrugs and shakes his head: "Santana made her choice. I had no say in it. I never agreed with what she did, though."

Brittany and David never even talked about it. He might have been her cousin, but he had no control over her actions. His eyes wander to a nearby table as he sighs and coughs.

"It may not have been the best choice, but it was her choice. And despite everything, Santana truly believed she made the right one. We don't talk about it, when we meet. Not like that happens a lot anyway. And even if it does, you never really get her all to yourself." he reminisces.

"Why's that?" Susan curiously asks.

Again, he shrugs before looking at Brittany. She knows exactly what he's talking about.

"Santana had a natural flair, she'd walk into a room and anyone would turn their heads and stare. The way she walked, the way she moved and slowly lashed her eyebrows. There's no way describing it. Time had a different pace when you looked at her. It slowed down so you could absorb more of her. And she didn't talk to people, she'd flirt with them. It'd normally take a minute or two before someone ended up being her personal slave for the evening. It was marvelous to look at. And so much fun. By the time she went home, she'd be all: 'People are always so nice to me. I don't get it!'."

Brittany smirks with an underlying nostalgic feeling and agrees: "And I would laugh, stare at her boobs and explain in a very detailed way how even I drooled all over her after all those years."

But her company seems to be surprised by her sudden comment. It's the first time she tells them something with such sincere happiness over a memory.

"What?" she scoffs. "She had amazing breasts."

David puts up a rejecting hand to dial back the details. This is something he doesn't miss.

"She's my cousin, man!"

Brittany bends over and wiggles her eyebrows: "And your cousin has amazing breasts. Deal with it."

Out of nowhere, a person appears next to the threesome. They look up and find G.I. Joe taking a chance. He nervously says hi and introduces himself as Joe. Susan slaps her fist at the table out of disbelief as her jaw drops: "What are the odds?"

The guy is confused, but the other two catch the comical subtext. Brittany still keeps a distance by formally smiling and nodding. She thought he wouldn't go there. How easy do men think women are nowadays?

A quick glance at Susan expresses her thought and the black goddess wouldn't be herself if that didn't result in an epic safe: "She's out of your league, man. She once had sex with a Latina, lesbian supermodel. Hard to top that."

David explodes into laughter and covers his mouth with both hands.

Brittany adds the last detail by whispering to Susan: "And I have a boyfriend."

"Oh, right." Susan remembers. "_And_ she has a boyfriend."

It's three a.m. and Susan's still not ready to give up on the topic of the supermodel ex-girlfriend. Though Brittany surprised herself by not crying once this evening, apart from laughter, she's had enough of it. Even David, always in for a heartwarming dive into the past, rolls his eyes when the black woman asks yet another question. After uttering their genuine surprise over the fact that Susan hasn't taken any notes, the pair of old friends grant her one last question. Then, it'll be over.

"One more? That's easy." Susan confesses.

Brittany rotates her head a little bit and curiously looks at her very impressive friend.

With perfectly orchestrated hand gestures, it rolls over Susan's tongue like a piece of poetry: "How was she in bed?"

That question must have been on her mind for hours now, Brittany figures, and she nearly spits out her drink.

"I do not want to know about this." David objects.

But Susan looks at him with ruthless eyes and shrugs: "Too bad it was _my_ last question."

She quickly winks to make up for it, but a nagging feeling of running out of this bar right this second sneaks up on David. Brittany's buzz is kicking in pretty hard, though, and the part she has been trying so hard not to think of the entire evening, the sexy and arousing and exhausting part of their relationship, come knocking like a thunderstorm. She smiles a dirty smile and heaves a frustrated sigh.

"So fucking amazing." she admits.

Just thinking about Santana's naked body turns her on again. David recognizes a long-lost spark in her eyes. Actually, he finally figures out what the girls had been doing every time he caught them with that exact same sparkle in their eyes, when they were younger. Chills run up and down his spine. This can't be healthy information for him.

"I bet it was." Susan groans. "I mean, we're talking about a supermodel here. That can never be bad."

A lot more invested and enthusiastically than she should be, Brittany picks up on the subject to further explore the level of awesomeness that Santana Lopez was.

"Okay, listen." she orders her friend, while bending over the table and repositioning the empty bottles of beer. Susan's eyes have never twinkled this bright. David covers his face with both hands and utters a silent 'Oh my god'.

"Whenever we were in bed and she was about to orgasm, she would whisper my name so silently it was barely audible. I asked her what that was about one time. She told me there was no other word in the English vocabulary that came near the intense feeling she experienced, apart from my name, because I was responsible for the total loss of control over her body, so she used it instead of a silly_ Oh My God_. Flattering, no!? Made me come twice as hard once she told me that."

Extremely self-satisfied and proud about the confession, Brittany sits back again and winks.

But then there's David, who holds out his hand in front of his chest and shakes his head with disbelief: "Seriously, Brittany, that's my cousin you're talking about. That's just nasty."

But instead of apologizing, a giggling Brittany agrees: "Oh, she could be nasty."

The girls toast to that last comment before they empty their bottles. Then, the black woman puts her head on top of her fists and stares into the crowd, picturing the countless photos she has seen of that ex-girlfriend of Brittany's.

"Santana Lopez." she sighs. "Damn, even I would jump her."

It's the moment when David's had enough of it. He and his cherry red, embarrassed head rise up to walk over to the bar in an attempt to flee the conversation.

* * *

An hour later, Brittany gets out of the cab that brought her to the East part of town. She stares into the darkness to recognize the designated building she calls home. Christopher's in bed already, probably hogging the sheets.

Her feet feel unstable, but that's probably from all the drinks she's been having. In a careful attempt to not fall, she makes her way over to the sidewalk. Just a few yards ahead, there's the stairway to the elevated entrance of the apartment complex. Her body sits down on the second step and it hits her just how confusing this night has been. She buries her head in both hands and sighs completely discouraged. Around her, the street lights shed little vision over the parked cars and empty street. There are only a few windows that reflect a lit room in her proximity. Seeing David again was great. She has missed him while traveling around for work. He's still as amazing as he used to be. Just as honest, as pure and compassionate. But when Susan pops up in her mind, she starts laughing girlishly. That's some kind of woman.

She lowers her hands and stares at the tree in front of her. It's small and fragile. Why is it even there, she wonders. Then her hand reaches for her phone, that precious possession that could easily clear up everything, yet makes it all the more complicated at the same time. She envisions her ex-girlfriend, sitting next to her. She thinks about her gorgeous hair and her natural flair. She sees her walking down the runway with a fierceness that used to stop her heart for seconds. That's when she starts to cry, for the first time in a while. Her fingers try to stop the restless flow of tears. It takes her a couple of minutes to regain control over her emotions, to stop being such a girl about all of this.

She gets up on her feet to climb the last couple of stairs. Next to the collection of doorbells, she misses three times before putting the key into its lock. Then, out of nowhere, she throws a look over her shoulder. Because if this were a movie, she'd find Santana standing at the pavement right now.

* * *

**Like it? Let me know.**

**The next chapter will be interesting. We'll go back in time and learn how the girls realized that had feelings for each other.**


	3. At sixteen

**At sixteen**

_2009_

* * *

It are the same old lockers in the girl's dressing room where they are recovering from an intense workout. Santana finds herself staring at her best friend. They have been there a million times before. The lockers still sound the same when they shut them with an attitude, the room still smells like a weird mixture of perfume and sweat. It has always been the same, _they_ have always been the same. The friends discuss routines in here or math or even boys. They cry over teenage dramas or laugh about stupid jokes. Nothing about their interaction has changed over the years, not even the slightest. That's why this is weird. That's why Santana can't shake off this weird feeling taking control of her.

About ten minutes ago, the two girls came out of the showers completely naked, like always, and Santana has never peeked at Brittany's gorgeous body before. But now she did and her eyes inspected every little shape of her. While Santana is busy packing her bag to head home, she can't shake off the memory of it. By now, Brittany is fully dressed again. Her shirt hangs loosely down her body and a light jeans accentuates her perfectly toned ass, like it is the most natural thing in the world. She doesn't notice, at least not at first, and carelessly keeps applying her usual thin layer of makeup in the small, heart-shaped mirror hanging on the outside of her locker door. The girl pouts her lips so she can check her lipgloss art and a faint, confident smile of hers approves. She's ready. Ready and happy.

But Santana isn't. She's still half naked, her hair's still wet and there's not a spot of makeup covering her skin yet. The only thing she's ready for is to run over to her best friend and lay that perfectly shaped hand on top of her own ragingly beating heart, because it's about to burst out of her chest. It hit her, the minute that had her entertained by shamelessly staring at Brittany's beauty - it has made her realize that she is drop dead gorgeous.

Her entire body suddenly feels warm and fuzzy, a certain feeling she has never experienced before. Brittany is pretty - no, correction: hot. Halfway through getting dress, that realization has keeps her occupied until Brittany finally looks over to her. Those three steps seem far away, yet Santana can smell her delicious fragrance. Blue eyes cross hers when she innocently starts smiling. Unaware of what she was doing, Santana automatically replies with the same expression. It's soft, it's heartwarming and uncontrollable.

"What?" Brittany hesitantly asks once she learns that the uninterrupted staring won't end anytime soon.

In an attempt to cope with the awkward situation, she flattens her blonde hair once more. Her usually tough friend shrugs, smiles again in a dumb way, and finally finds a second to blink. Brittany fails to make sense out of any of this, though, and closes the gab between the two of them to pull one of the laces of Santana's bra, as if she is pointing out she's getting dressed extremely slow today. In response, there's nervous chuckling and a shirt gets strategically pulled in front of the red piece of lingerie.

"Come one, turtle. Normally, you jump in and out of your clothes in seconds."

A dirty thought about jumping _her_ surprises Santana. Her face turns red in a second.

"What?" Brittany asks innocently.

The girl notices how weird her best friend is acting, but fails to put the pieces together. At the same time, she can't help but acknowledging what a fine woman Santana is becoming. They were so little when they met. Turning six was the big priority back then, because that meant becoming 'big girls'. Now they are in high school. They are inseparable, joined to the hip, soulmates at their best. The big six has changed into goals and dreams. Going to university, studying to score a scholarship, succeed in life. The normal stuff, but there's one condition that hasn't been discussed once, but that involves each other by default. The are never to leave the other alone. They wouldn't survive, you see. Santana without Brittany, that's unimaginable. Always has been.

"You and me, promise it'll be you and me tomorrow. Ignore all the other assholes and sluts."

Santana's heart started pounding rapidly the second her best friend asks her to promise her exclusiveness for the night. She smiles entertained when the second part came out, though.

"You mean our friends?"

Brittany nods casually: "You are mine. _My_ best friend."

The dark haired beauty discovers the aching desire to grab her other half by the shirt and kiss her intensely. Of course, she refrains.

* * *

The two of them were separated for exactly two hours before they gather at Santana's place for a dressing up party preceding the actual party itself. Two hours, still, it was too much. They called the second they arrived at home and texted throughout the following remaining time. Now they are reunited and the nervous feeling that crawls underneath their skin every time they are apart, like they're missing a limb or something, disappears immediately. It takes them an hour to get matching outfits perfected and their makeup mastered accordingly. They decide over the important things rather quickly, but laughing kicks and gossiping interrupts the getting ready process multiple times. Whenever Brittany's around, a lot of girly, joyful noise comes out of Santana's bedroom. Now they are at the point where the familiar sounds get replaced by concentrated silence. Both girls are staring at each other, doing the final checkup before the evening will kick itself off. Brittany's eyes roll over Santana's gorgeous body. She's so muscled, so ripped that, sometimes, the sight stirs up jealous feelings inside of her. And that face, that hair, those eyes - everything about her is beautiful. Santana secretly suspects her best friend to be blushing after a minute or two. Maybe it's just a reflection of her own feelings, because she can't even blink while inspecting that hot girl in front of her. Brittany has her blonde hair up in a dot, so tight that she only needs some glasses to make her look like a strict secretary from the neck up. Her outfit would blow her cover, though. She has put on a tiny, blue dress, playfully swirling over her body. Her long, small legs are meant to be stared at, and Santana does. She suddenly feels uncertain about her black cocktail dress. It could be too short, or too casual, but her bestie picks up on the insecurity right away and puts those warm, soothing hands on her bare shoulders. Santana's heartbeat hits the roof, but the rest of her body relaxes.

"You look gorgeous." Brittany conforms. "I could kiss you."

For a hot second, Santana wishes she would. Her breathing even stops. Then, their names reverberate downstairs.

David is waiting for them when they arrive at the living room. It smells like cinnamon in there, like it always does. The room's poorly lit, but only to make it cosy. All around, on shelfs and cabinets, there are pictures of the family - Brittany included. They apologize for the wait. There were selfies to be made.

It's a coming and going of men at the house, though. There's Santana's father, George, the overly smart, bald sweetheart who has taken care of his daughter ever since her mother died while giving birth. He'd do anything for her and it's a proven fact that he's an exceptional dad. His warm voice welcomes Brittany, casually known as his second daughter. They peck each other on the cheek and embrace.

"Daddy O, you look so fit today." she compliments him.

For a second, he seems to blush, but the well-respected professor gathers his strictness. Next, Eli passes through. He's David's younger brother and couldn't be any different. All the seriousness and dedication supporting David's kind and compassionate personality obviously isn't a genetic thing. The unrestrained Eli has no life goals. He's a dedicated gamer, in love with war games, and barely drags himself to school every morning. While David has cute, brown curls and deep, green eyes, his brother slowly grows grey spots in between the thick black combover hairstyle. His eyes are brown and mysterious, just like his personality. David is passionate about food and blogging, therefore blogs about food every single day, while Eli wastes time smoking pot and hiding in his room all day. But, surprisingly, he is very socially progressed once he sits down with a few people. He gets that from his father. Uncle Aaron - even Brittany calls him that - raised his two sons the best he could. The pediatrician has a busy life - doctors usually do. He works at the hospital, curing sick kids. Santana always says that no man curing sick kids can ever be called an asshole. Uncle Aaron is a bit of a weirdo, though. His long hair is tucked together in a biker-_ish_ ponytail, which makes him look a lot cooler than he actually is. The guy's a sore loser for a girly smile and a nice 'please'. All her life, Santana can't remember anything else than getting the best presents ever from this guy. One time, he promised her a pony, but she doesn't enjoy riding a horse, so she politely declined.

His wife died as well, when David was five and Eli just turned three. Nobody in the family ever really had a mother figure. Brittany jokes about it a lot, but her theory about a curse, killing off the wives at the Lopez's sometimes makes sense. Even grandpa, Nicolas, became a single father of two at the age of forty two. The oldest member of the family is in his late seventies and retired from his teaching career a couple of years ago. He's not at home, for the moment. The grey sweetheart has a very active social life to maintain and barely makes it on time for dinner. Few grandparents could pull his schedule off.

"Yo, Mouse, are you joining us tonight?" Brittany chant through the room, waiting for a reaction coming from the nearby kitchen.

Eli's head appears through the doorway to blow off the offer: "I can't. Got an online gaming contest later tonight."

He winks and announces his departure for the rest of the night. To the rest of them, a gaming contest doesn't seem like a worthy competition to a party, but clearly, Eli's mind and theirs don't think alike.

Brittany's unconsciously playing around with Santana's fingers for the fifth minute in a row when David announces departure. They have agreed to meet some friends before they head to a party at a football player's house.

"Brittany, get your hands off my daughter and get ready." George teases her. "The boy is waiting."

It doesn't stop her for a second, she's still holding on to her best friend when she gets on her feet. David pokes his uncle in the ribs and stretches out his arms to engage in a hug: "I'll get them home in time."

The response is genuinely trusting: "You always do."

The girls have fought their bodies into some jackets and wait at the front door to hit the cold of the night. Santana's fingers corrects a little black stripe of mascara and she gets rewarded with a gratitude kiss. They both start blushing.

"How do you do it, kid, keeping it up with those girls all night?" George asks his nephew.

A lovely smile reverberates before answering: "I don't know. I'm hoping that maybe one day, I'll get a medal for it."

George chuckles and scratches his bald scalp. Then he offers to pay for one if he sticks with it for another five years.

* * *

Amazing music fills the room with dancing youngsters. Everywhere around, there are sweating bodies, hypnotized by the sound waves and rhythmic moves. Every single person is smiling, if it's not at someone, then it's for themselves. Brittany and Santana participate in the glee, never allowing their dance moves to drive them away from each other too far. They entwine hands, mouth the lyrics along, wiggle their hips at the same pace and keep that going until their feet hurt. Brittany secretly films her best friend's dancing, only to be discovered a second later. Santana cups the lens with her hand and sticks out her tongue. When it's time to get a drink, they spy David at the kitchen of local football legend Jamie Henderson, tapping his foot to the rhythm, completely relaxed and silently happy.

"David's got the hots for you." Santana informs her best friend, who just looks up at her in a confused way.

"David? No way. He's like my little brother. I've known him since forever." she smirks in denial.

It's the way he secretly looks at Brittany when she's facing someone else, or how he talks about her when she's not around. He holds the door open for her and pays for drinks. He cooks for both girls too, but Santana knows it's really just to impress Brittany. She doesn't appreciate her cousin showing genuine interest in her best friend, but a primeval instinct doesn't want him to get hurt either.

"Don't tell him that, the brother thing. He'll be scarred for life." is all she suggests.

Brittany drags her along to an L shaped couch in the corner of the place and sits down to enjoy a quiet moment with her drink. Quickly, a crowd of friends follow their example. The boys and girls go to their school. The entire group has known each other for years. They start talking, laughing and joking around. David remains at the bar, talking to an old classmate. But Brittany's feeling tired already from all the dancing and she yawns before poking her Siamese twin with her shoulder. It makes her look at her and for a second, Santana gets lost in her own dazzled mind. She looks pretty again. Not in the _pretty_ pretty way, but in the _hot_ pretty way. She sees the tiredness hiding behind those fragile eyes and her heart starts pounding uncontrollably. There's a familiarity to the feeling, the same familiarity that reminds her of every single year since she's started remembering things. There has been no life without Brittany to her. It's always been the two of them, like tigers fighting the jungle outside. When Santana cried, Brittany offered her sleeve. When a boy was rude to Santana, Brittany kicked him in the guts. When Santana missed a mom, Brittany took her home to make her mother be all parental over her. She was the most precious thing Santana ever had. She'd kill someone to protect her. And now she obviously looks tired and pretty at the same time. Hot, pretty, eyes stare into hers for an awkwardly long time. Then those green diamonds travel down to her lips, like they are analyzing the shape of it, the way they must taste juicy and soft at the same time. They switch back and forth a couple more times before the blonde puts her hand reassuringly on Santana's right leg. Like it's a necessity to touch her, to feel her right now. Brittany is always the affectionate one, handing out hugs and compliments uncontrollably or putting her fingers at the lower back of her best friend to let her know she's around.

Santana loses herself for a split second when an unexplainable feeling comes over her and her head slowly bends towards Brittany's. She kisses the blonde lovingly on the lips, like it's the most natural thing in the world. The alcohol buzz might be to blame, but nothing about it feels weird or confusing. It doesn't get any further, or translate into something heavier. Brittany doesn't object or reacts startled. They just sit their, in the midst of all their friends, softly and tenderly kissing each other. Five seconds later their mouths part and with eyes closed, they heave a nervous sigh. Once they find the courage to open them up again, heartwarming smiles color their faces. Their entire body feels warm. Nice warm. Coming home warm. There's no embarrassment, no confusion. It felt right. It felt like they would like to do it again sometimes. But the loud laughter and crazy noises around them have stopped for a second. When the girls turn their heads, they notice curious eyes pointed at them. The group of friends doesn't know what's happening. Neither do they. Santana just shrugs and frowns in an offended way to set the record straight: "What? Don't you have anything better to do than stare at people?"

It's magical how seven heads simultaneously turn to the other side of the room in no time. Santana is known to be pretty relentless. She can pick a fight with anyone and win without making an effort.

* * *

It's around two a.m. when they end up dancing on an improvised stage somewhere in the middle of a bar. The girls are joined by Katy and Jules, two of Brittany's drama class fellow classmates. Nobody wanted to go home after the party at Henderson's ended.

Unlike Santana, Brittany's determined to achieve big things in life. She'd like to take over her family's movie studio one day, since she's passionate about the magical world of films and television shows. For a while, photography seemed like an interesting career choice, but that was until she started working on the movie sets last summer. She enrolled herself in drama class the first thing when school started again. To earn some money, she also offered to film weddings and birthday parties for a small price.

Santana isn't a fan of those extracurricular activities - it means less time with her best friend - but at the same time, she feels proud about the blonde's interest in the future. Santana doesn't really share the same life goals - which is surprising for a change. They talk a lot about what they want in life and only Brittany seems very specific about the outcome. Santana simply doesn't have a clue. She wants freedom, a life that won't tie her down. The thing is: she had no idea what exactly. A normal job scares her out of her mind.

Kate and Jules, the two brunettes that aren't half as nerdy as the rest of the drama class, take out their cellphones and give the sacred time-passing of selfies a try. Santana is always eager to pose in front of a camera. It's the thing she loves most, apart from Brittany. Being incredibly beautiful and photogenic helps. As a child, her father allowed her to take part in children's fashion shoots. And as she grew older, her desks and drawers started exploding from all the magazines and fashion articles she collected. If only there were realistic careers to aspire in that direction. But it's nearly impossible to become a big shot in the fashion industry. Even Brittany admitted that when they talked about that once. That doesn't stop her from acting like a model, though.

"Okay. One, two, three, …" Santana orchestrates the friendly photo sharing.

She pulls the bunch of them together for a group shot, while they make weird faces and stick out their tongues. Santana then moves over to Brittany and looks straight into the lens with a strict and intense look. Her shoulders lean into Brittany's body, who looks genuinely happy to be standing next to her. She looks up to her and finds herself hypnotized by the way her friend transform into a goddess when there's a camera around. Her pale thin arms sneakily find their way around the toned waist of her soulmate. Santana doesn't mind at all. In fact, she likes it.

In an unguarded moment, Jules turns her pretty face to the left and she coincidentally finds a man staring at her friends. More specifically, he's highly interested in Santana's presence. It takes a minute or three, and a couple confirming second looks before she taps her best friend Kate on the shoulder and points in his direction. The man, dressed up nicely in a suit, is surrounded by what seem to be colleagues. The group appears to be heavily discussing the foursome and the more they pay attention to it, the more uncomfortable Kate and Jules are starting to feel.

"Some creeps are checking you out." one of them finally informs Santana, who looks up feeling charmed.

The flashing lights blind her for a second, but it doesn't take long before she spots the five men staring her way. Maybe her dress is too short. Maybe her makeup blurred from the dancing. One certainty is that these guys are way too old to be staring at young girls like this. She turns around to block the view from them and takes Brittany's hand to soak themselves in the dancing rhythm again. Her smile is the prettiest when it's meant for her best friend. It's because there's this small possibility that she'd like her having smiled at, this uncertain chance that it warms her heart the way it does when Brittany smiles at her. Their fingers entwine and they forget about the rest of the world for a while, until Santana feels the unexplainable desire to turn around. She's being watched, again, she feels it in her bones. When her body has made an impressive perfect swirl to test the theory, one of the men from before is suddenly situated right in front of her. Her eyes frown in an offended way. Normally, the girl's all about a nice looking guy showing interest, but he must be thirty already, he should know better.

"You are gorgeous." he tells her, loud enough for her to hear over the pounding music. "What's your name?"

Brittany quickly freezes attentively next to her friend, equally confused.

"I'm sorry. I'm not interested. You are, like, old." Santana smirks with the intentional disrespect.

The man holds his hands up as an apology and starts laughing: "Don't worry. I am a married man. Believe it or not, I'm even happy. I'm looking for you, but not like that."

His left hand goes searching for a business card in the pocket of his grey vest. He presents it to her and bends over to whisper in her ear.

"I have an eye for talent. I'd like to see you in front of the camera in one of my studios soon. I brought in this major advertisement campaign, but we couldn't seem to find the girl for the job. After watching you for a while, I think I just did."

It doesn't happen very often, but Santana is too startled to respond. Her brown eyes check the little card in her hands. _Spencer &amp; Riddick_. Marketing and modeling agency. Interesting combination.

"But I'm not a model." she grins, never really counting the work she once did as more than a fun activity.

The man steps back to turn away from her. Just as he's about to confidently leave the girls behind, he looks at her again and an assuring, mature and determined expression takes over his entire being: "Not yet."

* * *

It takes her a whole week before she finds the courage to step into the office of the strange man. It's a massive building located in the middle of town. She wanted to put on her best dress for this occasion, but it's so cold outside that she had to change into a fashionable jeans and a woolen, oversized sweater to fight the chills running up and down her spine. She did make an effort by putting on a fitting scarf and some gorgeous high heeled boots. When she enters the building, one of the receptionists at a white, modern desk directly addresses her.

"Can I help you, sweetheart?"

She's a sweet woman, so it seems, busy scheduling what seems like an agenda on her computer. Santana is not sure what to say, really. It's not like she has an appointment. All there is, is that business card. The walls are decorated by massive posters and photographs of gorgeous men and women. Models, no doubt about that. Most of them look familiar to her, from magazines and campaigns.

"I, um - I was told to come here by someone who gave me this in a bar last week."

The shorthaired woman accepts the card and quickly looks up to her again. She asks Santana to wait for a second and picks up the telephone in front of her. It rings for a couple of times before a man echoes through the line.

"Yes. Mister Spencer, I have a young girl here at the desk. Dark hair, model-_ish_ feature. Very pretty. Confused about why she's here. Is it the one you've been talking about? For the local L'Oréal campaign?"

Santana's jaw drops as she hears the famous name reverberate.

"Fuck." she utters the amount of astonishment flashing through her mind.

This can't be right. The phone gets put back in its place and a warm smile appears on the secretary's face.

"If you are who I think you are, the boss is going to be freaking out seeing you."

Suddenly, Santana is all sorts of confused. Why is she here? And why is she this underdressed? Her makeup probably looks like crap, too. There was only time to apply some mascara and eyeliner. This is not a thought-through plan. Brittany is so much better at things like this. Some nervous fingers run through her hair, in a desperate attempt to undo what the wind did to it. She prays for her heart to stop racing.

In the corner of her eye, she notices a familiar guy storming through the hallway, like death is chasing him. He accidentally passes the glass door that will lead him to the reception area, but grabs the door hold and pulls himself back to correct his route. When he sees the seriously confused Santana standing in the middle of the room, holding on to her purse innocently, he heaves a relieved sigh and bends over to catch his breath by supporting on his knees.

"What took you so long?" he gasps, smirking reproachful in an amused way.

Santana quickly takes a look behind her to make sure he's talking to her. Sure, it is the same guy from the bar. He's a bit more handsome in broad daylight, though. Disappointed by his lack of endurance, he stretches his back before holding out his hand to her.

"Now please tell me: what's your name, young lady?"

Santana hesitantly shakes his hand and frowns: "Santana Lopez."

"Hi Santana. I'm Rick Spencer." he replies. "Welcome. Thank you so much for coming. I have been impatiently waiting for you to show up for days now."

The secretary silently scoffs and seems to be talking to herself when she picks up on that: "Every hour, every minute, every second. The mysterious girl from the bar."

Rick, or mister Spencer, smiles over her comment and invites Santana to his office.

"I have big plans for you, Santana. Big plans."

She nervously smiles and orders herself not to get her hopes up.

"You look amazing." he states. "Doesn't she look amazing?"

The secretary assures him she does. Santana starts blushing.

"Well, I've been working out."

Then, he shakes his head in disbelief: "I can't believe you're only sixteen. You look way older. Way mature."

She'll be sixteen this month.

Santana frowns, not sure to feel offended or honored: "Is that supposed to be a compliment."

The kind smile thrown her way easily gives away the answer. The man, Rick, can't stop staring at her beauty. His eyes sparkle. Brittany's sometimes sparkle too, when she looks at her.

* * *

When Santana was a little girl, her dad enjoyed nothing more than taking her out to the playground. A lot of times, he'd be forced to drag along best friend Brittany, but there were occasions when the two of them would be alone, sharing a family moment. He'd help her get up on the slide, catch her by the time she went through the tunnel, but the favorite thing for both of them to do was sit on the swing. Sometimes he'd swing along, next to her, but usually, he'd stand behind her and push her back until she was sure she'd fall off. It always started the same: she'd be insecure and angsty about getting on it. The thing is: she never remembered the fun part of it, only the last bit where she got scared about the height and she ordered him to stop the swinging in a second. But George was a patient man, a teacher that fought his way past difficult students and long years of dull assignments. With her little, tiny hand in his, he'd bend over and smile in a way to console her.

"There's nothing to be afraid of, kiddo." he'd say in a soft voice.

His natural flair made it all the more assuring.

"It's just a swing and I'm going to be very careful. And when you don't want to play anymore, I'll get you off immediately. It's all going to be okay."

It was the height that snook up on her like a scary realization of fear. Even at sixteen, Santana still backs away from standing on the edge of things. But her father holds the power to believe in anything. Each and every time she's doubtful or reserved to do something new or challenging, she hears his words in her mind. The same voice that sung her to sleep when she was sick or scared in the dark.

"It's going to be okay."

When she goes looking for him in the big house they call a home, she finds the bald guy in the modern, white kitchen. He's making himself some tea and immediately offers her a cup as well. Santana accepts the offer and kisses him on the cheek.

"How was your day, sweetheart?" he wants to know.

Her fingers nervously tap the counter repeatedly, which tells him something's on her mind. Seconds pass, and instead of opening up, she just resumes with the annoying habit until he slaps her hand.

"Stop that. Tell me." he orders.

She playfully pouts her lips, faking she's hurt and kisses her own hand. It makes him laugh.

"How did you know what you wanted to do when you grew up?" she asks.

He sighs, digging decades back in his memories and grins self-confidently: "I've always known I wanted to teach. I loved art, photography, painting and architecture. And I loved explaining things to others. It was an obvious choice."

It makes sense, when Santana thinks about it. But not everybody knows exactly what they want in life. She doesn't. One goal in life seems a bit dull to her and one-sided. Brittany aspires to be an editor. It has been that way for a long time and she's determined about it. When she's not spending time with Santana, she's at the family company, silently observing the editors and camera people working there. She analyzes the techniques and decisions those experienced professionals make and memorizes every single one of them. Santana thinks it's boring. She went along one time and begged to go home once her phone died. She doesn't see the magic in it like her best friend does, and that's okay. It's enough for her to know that Brittany loves it.

"So, kiddo, tell me. You are not _that_ far from graduating yourself. What are _you_ going to do with your life?"

They've never talked about it before, simply because Santana has no concrete response to it. She thought about becoming a teacher, like her dad. But she'd smack a kid with a big mouth, or throw away exams instead of grading them. Following the steps of her pediatric uncle isn't an option either. There's something about poking the insides of a person or cutting them open that doesn't speak to her. Besides, that'll mean another ten years in school. Who wants that? The only thing that always amused her, though, was standing in front of a camera. Guess she has two more years to come up with a perfect plan.

"It's a surprise, dad." she ultimately smirks.

He heaves that familiar sigh and squeezes his soft eyes as bit. One of his hands cups hers while taking another sip of his tea.

"Seriously, Santana. You can do whatever you want. Be a lawyer, be an accountant, be an artist. Be anything you want. As long as you fight really hard for it and, you know, knock all the competition out of the park, it'll be okay."

She nods and thinks about it for a while.

"I'll do that."

They sit in silence for a minute and time passes without being used properly. The kitchen smells like freshly baked cookies and Santana has no idea why. She doesn't think the oven's ever being used before. Sometimes she wishes she had a mom, someone who would transform the kitchen into a restaurant, where fresh pastries and delicious dishes would lure everyone to the table. But that would mean that her entire life would've been different. Uncle Aaron is like a second father to her. Her cousins are brothers. They all went through the same thing. They experienced loss and stuck with each other to get through it. Santana might not have a living mother anymore, but she has so many other things. She just misses the idea. Due to having a second dad and such a close and loving family, she'd never really trade it for an uncertainty - a fantasy.

"I want to be a model, dad." she suddenly admits.

Her dad mistakes it for a silly joke.

"Are you freaking kidding me? That's a hard world out there, Santana." he reacts.

After throwing a look at her, his expression changes.

"Oh." he utters, finally understanding the level of seriousness. "But you're only fifteen?"

Nearly sixteen, actually. Just a few more weeks.

Santana thinks about his words and understand the truth behind them: "I know it's not easy, but you just said I could be anything I wanted, right? I mean, I think I really want this."

Her father nods hesitantly, almost regretting his own statement. The only thing he ever wanted to do is protect his daughter. Modeling is a world where predators and hunters have no mercy. It's so far out of his comfort zone, he'll never be able to offer her the right amount of protection. It scares him. Santana knows that.

"So, to tell you the truth, apart from modeling, I was dying to become an international drug dealer down in New York. I hear there's a big market. But I guess this is the better choice."

Her witty joke makes him soften up all of a sudden. She can be so inappropriately funny at times, just like her mother.

"Alright, smart-ass. I get your point. You can be a model if you want to."

She squeals an excited 'yes' and jumps up and down. Then she wraps her arms around his shoulders to thank him with a kiss. It's not like he has anything to say about which direction she truly wants to go in life. But his approval means so much to her. She'd die if she'd disappoint him with her choices.

"I love how you always keep your promises, daddy." she playfully adds before letting go of him again.

The aged man feels scarily at ease about it. If anyone can make it, it's his flesh and blood. Look at that girl, the spitting image of her mother. Same color of skin, same dark hair, same shape of eyes and face. She's drop-dead gorgeous. She's a walking miracle.

"You inherited the persuasive skills from your mother, Santana. I don't know how my life would look like with the two of you in the same house."

The man pities himself in an alternative universe, but Santana is confident about that vision of the family they never had.

"Well, let's be honest: those curtains would've never been here."

She points to the ones hanging above the kitchen sink and grabs the beeping phone that's stuck in her back pocket. A new text message. George turns his head offended and has a closer look at the fabric hanging aside the window. They have a beautiful grey pattern. What's wrong with that?

"What are you talking about?"

Santana's face lights up, but it's not because of him. It's the person on the other side of their texting conversation.

"Fuck. Brittany's waiting. I have to go. Bye, daddy."

A quick peck proceeds the hasty departure before George finally recovers from the curtain comment. He handpicked them himself!

Suddenly, the door bursts open again. It's Santana again, who returned for some reason. Patiently waiting for an explanation, George remains frozen to his spot. She squeezes one eye shut, like she forgot to tell him something and suddenly starts giggling.

"By the way, daddy. I need you to come with me tomorrow to sign a modeling contract. Okay? Bye!"

The door slams shut again. The man drops his head, fearing the phase that'll come next, and grabs an empty glass from the cabinet, along with a bottle of half-emptied whisky.

"Oh, dear."

* * *

_**Thanks to stupid being down for almost 2 days, it took me longer than usual to update ... Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. This is like a little intermezzo to explain how all of their plans will unfold. And of course, to tell the story about how they started to realize they had feelings for each other and just how important they are to one another. **_

_**Thoughts, questions? Let me know ...**_


	4. Ambitious friends

**Ambitious friends**

_2009_

* * *

The house is abandoned. Even Eli is not hiding in his dungeon as usual. Santana and David carefully roam around the place, listening to the nothingness, moving so very slowly that their shoes won't even squeak. A situation like this barely ever happens, simply because there's always someone here. Too many people live in this house.

"Do you hear that?" David whispers, almost unnoticeable.

He holds out his hand to make her stop moving.

Santana just nods, because - yes - she _does_ hear it: the deafening sound of loneliness. They face each other and start laughing out loud. An exuberant Santana jumps on top of the leather couch and starts dancing like crazy.

"I never expected I'd say this, but … I feel like reading a book. Or taking a nap. Or - I don't know. I feel weirdly uncomfortable in silent situations."

David mocks her words and pulls her down on her ass again as he's taking a seat next to her.

"You don't read books." he reminds her. "And you are the cause of most silent situations."

She kicks him, like cousins are supposed to do. The silence gets disturbed, though, once her phone starts beeping.

"It's Brittany?" David curiously informs.

His annoyed cousin looks up to him and frowns: "Fuck you. I do have other friends than Brittany, you know."

An apologetic expression appears on his face, but it turns into confusion the second she starts smiling viciously.

"No, you're right: it's Brittany." she admits.

Some seconds pass where she texts her best friend back and he just sits there, staring at the decorative paintings and flowers in the room. He clears his throat in an attempt to gather some courage and turns his head hesitantly. This is the moment, that perfect moment to ask if maybe, just maybe, Brittany has said something about him - if she might be interested. But Santana drops her phone with a deep sigh and faces him with a weird expression. Her nose is curled up, her eyes squint. She looks like she's about to sneeze. It freaks him out a bit.

"I kissed Brittany yesterday. Or she kissed me. I'm not sure." she blurts out.

David's eyes widen with confusion and it feels like someone's slapping him across the face. Except Santana's not moving an inch and there's absolutely nobody around.

"What?" he finally stutters, hoping he misheard whatever she just said.

Maybe it was _kicked_. Or _whipped_. Please, not _kissed. _But Santana readjusts her position in the couch; she turns her entire body his way and drops her head, allowing her confusion to be seen.

"We kissed. It was super weird ... except, it wasn't."

When she levels his eyes again, he notices something. It might be the exact same thing drenching his eyes when he looks at Brittany himself. She's not joking, he gathers. Not even a little bit. The heart inside of him, beating only faster when that gorgeous blonde is around, abruptly stops and it takes a firm swallow before he can gather his thoughts.

"So, just to get things clear: I've been chasing Brittany like a love fool puppy for years now and you just randomly throw it out here that you've been kissing her. Like, girl to girl. Instead of me?"

She puts her hands in front of her mouth, like she's genuinely surprised: "You want _me_ to kiss you?"

His hand pokes her shoulder and he softly smiles. But Santana knows exactly how he's feeling about her best friend. That's why he's the first one she told.

"Sorry. It's just … how it went. I didn't mean to hurt you."

His head goes up and down, processing the whole thing. Though, in all fairness, even Santana can't decide what to make of it. What are they, ambitious friends, curious teenagers? She lowers her head once more and plays around with her fingers, displaying the difficulty to talk about it in such an honest way.

"I don't know what it means. I guess she liked it, but maybe it's just a best friend's thing. All I know is that I could want to maybe do it again."

"That's a lot of different maybes." David remarks.

It are, but that doesn't matter to her.

"Fuck. I don't want to lose my best friend. But I can't stop thinking about her and I don't know if that's normal for two girls who are together all the time."

That deafening silence returns. They sit through it, until the eldest of the two stretches his arms and shrugs.

"So. I'll stop trying to kiss her then?" David proposes, in a way to offer her the space to figure it all out.

She puts her hands on top of his and kisses his left cheek. He's such a great guy. A great guy that deserves an amazing girlfriend. But Santana wouldn't survive her cousin/male best friend chasing her soulmate right this minute. Not that he ever once made a move to kiss Brittany, though. Such a scaredy-cat. He barely ever flirts with her.

"For now, I'd appreciate that." she says, restraining everything inside of her wanting to ridicule his comment.

They decide to organize a small Playstation contest. Shooting terrorists might cheer David up a bit. It keeps them entertained for an hour, until she throws her arms up and declares herself the Queen of murdering everyone.

"You killed three innocent citizens." he objects.

She just shrugs and walks over to the kitchen, only to return with two big glasses of soda a minute later.

"So. I've been thinking about the Brittany thing." David says. "In other words, you're cock blocking me."

She shakes her head and hands him one of the glasses.

"I'm clam jamming." she proudly announces. "But don't it make you feel less inadequate."

As the words come rolling from her tongue, she starts wandering around her own mind. Is she in love with her best friend? How is she supposed to know? She has been feeling this warm, loving, protecting, all-consuming feeling for that gorgeous blonde ever since they met. They were just kids back then, but now, years later, those fundamental basics have remained the same. So how is she supposed to tell love apart from the familiar stomach race of butterflies that have always appeared whenever Brittany walked by or stared deep into her eyes? There is no manual, there are no guidelines, no direction on how to handle this situation. Their friendship has always been the most normal thing she knew, even now, after what happened last night. Maybe it is just as normal that she wants to kiss Brittany's lips sometimes or that she wants to hold her just a little bit longer after a hug comes to its ending. Maybe they are too entwined to tell the amorous perception apart.

* * *

"Want to try my gin cocktail? Made it myself."

The curly-haired boy puts down a tray of deliciousnesses with a high level of pride. Of course he went into his dad's liquor cabinet the minute they organized a night at home. Brittany, who recently joined the rather loud celebration of silence, is the first one to grab a potential life ruiner. David's passionate about food and drinks. He started blogging about it a year ago and his tribute_ Do it with Food_ has gathered a loyal fan base in a short amount of time. Santana patiently awaits the reaction, using her phone to film it. She's one hundred percent certain that Brittany won't like it and David's charming effort will flop once again: she doesn't like bitter things, she's more the vodka loving girl. It takes one count before the disgusted face of her friend proves her right. Poor David, he never catches a break with this one. Unlike Santana, who can never do anything wrong.

"That's disgusting. This tastes like red." Brittany croaks while sticking out her tongue.

David, all disappointed in letting his crush down, looks confused: "Red is not a taste. It's a color."

But Brittany insists: "Yesterday, I chewed on a pen. A red pen. It burst and exploded in my mouth. It looked like my periods came out of my mouth."

Santana eyes suddenly burst from laughing tears. She falls back into the thick pillows of the couch and buries her hysterical head in the piece of fabric, while the other duo amusingly observes her. Her filming skills are terrible. Right now, the lens is aimed at the ground.

"That's fucking disgusting." she utters, gasping for a breeze of air, while regaining control over the little video she's making.

Brittany turns her head to a baffled David and shrugs innocently: "Well, so is pen ink … and this gin."

He picks up the tray with the face of a defeated man and returns to the kitchen for a new experiment. Echoing through the space is still Santana's ecstatic laughter. Brittany crawls on top of her and shuts her up by cupping her mouth. That's when recording stops and the phone gets tossed aside.

"Okay, I get it: it was funny. I said a stupid thing."

A muffled Santana smiles in her hand and quickly fights her way from underneath her best friend, until she's on top of the surprised blonde.

"Down, Bessie." she snorts, using a Mulan quote.

Unlike David, who's always rolling his eyes whenever they exchange their inside jokes, Brittany loves it when her friend does that. They giggle, they struggle, they suddenly stare each other deep into the eyes. That makes them freeze immediately, forgetting about the place and time they are in. There's a recurring tension rising around them, as their heads are way closer than supposed to be. Brittany softly smiles at her gorgeous other half and uses her index finger to clear the falling strokes of hair from Santana's face to tug them behind her ear. How come she's only now figuring out how drop dead gorgeous her best friend is? How the entire room lights up when she laughs and her eyes sparkle like priceless diamonds. All her nerves go in overdrive, as she tries to memorize Santana's dark-toned skin rubbing against hers. There's butterflies in her stomach. She likes it.

"Do you remember what happened last night?" she bluntly asks, piercing her green eyes into those brown Latina ones.

Their terrifyingly close bond allows them to speak their mind freely about the incident. A nervous Santana silently moves her head up and down. Suddenly, she can't refrain from looking at Brittany's lips. They tasted great last night. Bet they'd taste great again today.

"I mean, we kissed." the blonde continues. "It was fun. I happen to like kissing, so it's not that I'd mind doing it again. It's just - you know. It all depends if you … like to kiss, too."

Her rambling is dead-cute. In any other situation, Santana would remain calm and preserved, casually shrugging and silently admitting she might. Not now. Before Brittany's words have fully left her mouth, she intercepts: "I do."

Fuck. With a raging fierceness, Brittany dives in to kiss her best friend again. Her lips press themselves on Santana's and there's absolutely no rejection. In fact, the suddenly explosion of spontaneity is being appreciated. Santana wraps her arms around her best friend and drops the entire weight of her body as well. They feel as one, so close to each other, while their lips are moving intensely. It all doesn't seem so weird as it should be. The kissing is nice - the gentle, subtle touching is nice. They softly discover each other's smooching habits while giggling every once in a while. Santana catches a breath as a self-assured Brittany suddenly replaces her lips to the collarbone of her opponent. This feels way too good. This stopped being kissing and turned into fooling around. An arousing feeling fires up her lower stomach. It's wanting, loving - it's overwhelming. It's sexual.

Santana pants, as her mind can't seem to organize its thoughts, even after persistent trying. The touch of Brittany does that to her. Why? They are just friends. Maybe they're lonely, desperate for company. And since they spend every waking moment together, this is the logical step. They have seen each other's bodies countless times, naked even. It never meant anything, it never made them curious. Now even thinking about the next shower they'll take together after practice makes them edgy.

Santana's hands are slowly moving up. They are eager to make their way over to her bra. Man, wouldn't she love to touch her boobs. Just once, out of curiosity. But noises come intruding from the kitchen and before another hasted heartbeat has passed, the two of them sit up straight, pulling down their shirts. David enters the room with another plate, not noticing how messed up both girls' faces and hair are.

"Does anybody want a smoothie?" he asks, hoping this will be a winner for once.

Brittany and Santana nod in a formal way and they each take a glass. Right before they put the straw in their mouths, they both secretly start smiling.

* * *

School's out. Another perfectly wasted day learning unnecessary things. The football court is deserted, except for four people. It's Eli, David, Santana and Brittany, staring at the distance. This day has been a sad one: it's the anniversary of Santana's mom death. Sixteen years now. At the same time, it's her birthday. That never really excites her, though, for obvious reasons. And as fate decided to make this day even worse, Santana got up with a small infection under her arm this morning from shaving. Therefor, she was forced to leave her perfect sleeveless birthday outfit at home and go for a less favorable option. She was late at school because of the hesitating nature of Eli, broke a nail in the car due to fidgeting and almost got ran over by a fellow-student. To say the least, it hasn't been her favorite day. Still, Brittany has given her a beautiful, engraved bracelet, and she edited a special friendship tribute on a memory stick. The best present happened in between classes, in the bathroom, right after Brittany realized her best friend was being sadder than ever. Sixteen was a big deal, you see. Getting your driver's license, claiming responsibility for something you were not ready for, growing toward adulthood. Secretly, she missed having a mom to share that with. And so Brittany held Santana's head in her hands and kissed her softly on the mouth, until her best friend's lips started trembling.

"Happy birthday." she whispered in the sexiest voice the Latina had ever heard.

The only word she could come up with was 'fuck'.

As a surprise, Eli has smuggled some tiny bottles of tequila to the court. Nobody ever really asks how, but he always finds a way to get to the illegal stuff. As long as it's alcohol, nobody minds.

"Oh, God, that is terrible! Give me another one!" Santana shouts, as her entire face transforms into a model poster for disgust.

The sun is starting to set and every single one of the teenagers has another shot. They all wonder out loud why adults like drinking this shit so much. It's not even tasty. Time passes, and Santana slowly starts to embrace the joy one's supposed to experience on a birthday. Weirdly enough, at home, the men have always celebrated her special day with a big amount of festivity. George's wife certainly isn't forgotten, but they choose to remember the day of her funeral to be sad and depressed about, rather than ruining little Santana's birthday. Still, that doesn't stop his daughter from mourning each and every time she gets to add another number to her life.

Brittany slips her hand in hers and rises a smile. Even if she'd try and resist, Santana would still fail at stopping the ends of her lips from dreamingly curling up. Her body crawls up against her best friend, while holding on to her, and the two guy, located in front of them, start laughing about the most stupid things they have done while drinking. Eli doesn't get very far. The only thing he ever does is sit in his room, playing video games, and whether he drinks or not, that never changes.

"One time I fell down the stairs and I broke my left arm." David proudly announces.

Santana's left eyebrow curls up; how is that a thing to be so eager to talk about? But Brittany, affected by the buzz of drinking, scoffs out loud and interferes.

"Oh, yeah? One time I fell down the stairs and I broke my arm _and_ my leg."

Santana nods. She was there to pick her up and call her parents. What a fun/awkward night that was at the hospital. But Santana is nothing if not competitive, so she shrugs, waves at the two braggers and points at herself a second later.

"Well," she grins self-confidently, "one time I fell down the stairs and the stairs broke. Walked out of there unharmed."

The three friends start laughing out loud and for a second, even Santana forgets about the tragedy that hides behind her birthday.

They all just enjoy the age of sixteen and the fact that the biggest worries in their life are just small details in comparison to what life's got in store for them. A private interaction between the girls, where they go through each other's hair to perfect the style, follows a brief moment of staring into each other's eyes. The brothers start fighting in a playful way to keep them entertained and end up running after each other on the deserted football field. It's getting dark by now, and the girls realize that they'll have to go home soon. That's when spontaneously Brittany bends her head closer to Santana again. Their lips meet and that stops both of their hearts. This feeling is growing stronger for both of them. And somehow, they don't want it to stop. It's a short peck, but enough to stir up a turmoil of emotions. Santana's breathing is shaky.

"Would you sleep with me?" Brittany suddenly asks, a minute after the kiss broke off and her head is positioned on Santana's shoulder.

"What?" the gorgeous Latina coughs, while spitting out the tequila she just had taken a sip of.

"Would you sleep with me …" Brittany clarifies, while sitting up straight and looking at her.

"_Yes_!" Santana proclaims, rather enthusiastically, with eyes wide open.

It scares her how much she has subconsciously has thought about it.

But Brittany's not done yet: "… if you were Jamie Henderson?"

She's hinting at the football player that threw the party the other day. Ever since they attended the fun night out at his house, the guy's been paying a lot of attention to the blonde goddess. Santana's not pleased about it. It shows.

"Oh, uh, I mean, yeah - I guess so." a startled Santana corrects herself.

Fuck. She frowns confused about the situation and turns her head the other way to calm herself down. Something tells her she's being stupid. Of course Brittany would be talking about a guy.

"Because he's a boy." Brittany begins to explain. "And they have a lot of hormones."

Her friend does not want to hear about this. She picturing his murder already.

"So that's probably why he's so interested in me, right? But I don't want to sleep with him."

Suddenly, two dark brown eyes flare up at her. It's obvious how ecstatic Santana is about the amount of rejection that crawled from underneath Brittany's words.

"Take me home." she begs, hoping Brittany will spend the night. "Stay with me for my birthday."

She's dying to fall asleep in her arms tonight. Her warmth, her smell, it's addictive. The feeling is mutual.

Brittany raises a suggestive eyebrow: "Your place or mine?"

"Wherever you're going." Santana romantically whispers unintentionally.

In the background, the boys are rolling over each other now, squealing like girls. They don't mind the others, having an intimate moment. Their bodies are relaxed and mesmerized. Minutes pass where they stare into each other's adoring eyes. Are they falling in love? Or do all best friends feel like this around this age? This has nothing to do with them being _girls_. This is about boundaries; the perception of a best friend relationship or an actual relationship.

Santana takes out her phone and starts taking pictures of that gorgeous girl next to her. When Brittany kisses her on the cheek, she snaps one of the tender moment.

When the boys are done playing and suggest to attend the family birthday dinner at home, all of them gather around the car, parked at the school's parking lot. Santana suddenly feels herself heating up, but this time, Brittany has nothing to do with it. It seems like she's starting to get sick or something. Everyone will be al cheerful and happy. She's not up for that. The silence of the guest of honor strikes an attentive Brittany. She pokes her shoulder just as she's about to open the car door.

"Are you okay?"

Weirdly, Santana isn't thinking about her mother anymore. One look at her and she's stuck in the memory of Brittany kissing her. A soft smile appears and unaffected by the presence of her cousins, she puts her arms around her soulmate to pull her in for a tight, intimate embrace.

"I'm fine. I'm just exceptionally tired and slightly drunk and I want to make out with you all night long." she whispers in her ear, using a sexy voice.

Chills run up and down the blonde's spine and a nervous feeling sneaks in. Something tells her that she going to have to learn how to contain herself on a whole new level tonight.

* * *

Three days after her sixteenth birthday, Santana's dream comes true. Her first official gig as a professional model is happening, at sixteen. The regional campaign for L'Oréal that Rick Spencer hired her for will be getting launched any minute now. A couple of discovering, warm-up photoshoots have prepared her for this big breakthrough. In a couple of weeks, Santana's face will be all over town. Presumably, that amount of pressure woke her up drenched in sweat this morning. She jumped straight up, disgusted of how wet the sheets underneath her body were. Then, she did a hundred sit-ups. In fact, she had spent every waking hours of the last couple of days in the gym, working out, toning her ass, pumping her arm muscles, losing some inches around her waist. Brittany went along, but instead of following Santana's lead, she brought books and homework to go through. She's the marvelous student Santana never would be and that's okay. To each their own, they say …

The studio they're at is crowded with professionals and curious business men. Rick Spencer's there to guide a nervous Santana through her first, big photoshoot. After three hours of sitting in a makeup chair waiting for the light technicians and all sort of assistants, her name reverberates through the room. Brittany, patiently going through some movie magazines on the floor, pulls the weight of her body away from Santana's legs and looks up.

"It's time." the worked up debutante states.

They both get on their feet and stare into each other's eyes. The anxiety is about to burst out of Santana, just like her heart. Her best friend notices. She can't believe how beautiful Santana is looking today. The makeup artist has done her best, just like the hairdresser and stylist. There's no other person as lucky looking into her eyes as she is, right now. The truth is, she's just as nervous as her Santana, but not over a major photoshoot. No, it's because Santana's soft smile makes her feel this way. Every inch of skin is itching and the dark-haired lady is suddenly overcome with a nauseating feeling.

"I'm fucking nervous." she admits.

Brittany grabs her best friend by the wrists and smiles decisively: "You have worked hard for this. You can do it. Remember: diligence is the mother of good luck."

"Benjamin Franklin." Santana remarks bashfully.

A proud face smiles at her: "See … Not nervous enough to remember the big ones."

"Well, you keep repeating them to me." Santana reminds her.

There are two assistants and a coordinator waiting for the newest discovery of Rick Spencer himself. Suddenly, an unrestrained Brittany kisses Santana on the lips. It's so sweet that it feels like silk. The desired effect gets accomplished: Santana's mood lightens up miraculously.

"You can do this." Brittany whispers through her mouth.

And just like that, her Santana straightens her back, puts on her killer face and walks past her to the part of the room where an entire team of stressed professionals await her arrival. Rick starts applauding to announce her presence and smiles proudly at George and David, sitting near the massive window of the studio. It's chilly, but Santana feels like a walking, burning flame. Nonetheless, she feels absolutely ready for this. Ready to smile and pose … and be awesome.

* * *

George and David can't stop rambling over the amazing experience they just shared. More importantly, three other models attended the photoshoot as well, to give advice to their new colleague. They were rather famous, so David won't get over that any time soon. The family starts to gather around for dinner. Even granddad and Eli are there to celebrate. Uncle Aaron is running late, as usual. Doctors!

Brittany and Santana just sit next to each other in the couch. The black-haired beauty has transformed back to her normal clothes and her face carries less makeup than before. She feels amazing, though. Calm, at last. Funnily, the heat surfacing her skin doesn't fade away. Like it's an afterglow. The shoot went great, everyone there was so patient and sweet. The feeling it gave her, standing in front of the camera, it was the best thing she had ever experienced. Like it all led up to the moment the photographer told her she was beautiful. Because in that second, she actually felt that way. Everything around her feels surreal, she's dwelling in a world of bliss. Perfect, fucking bliss. Even better, Brittany's holding her hand. She hasn't left her side, glaring at her in wonder, since the photoshoot ended. That made Santana feel more beautiful than ever before.

"What?" she finally asks, while smirking.

Her family keeps going on about the level of professionalism surrounding the event. George can't believe the world his daughter is being dragged into. David, on the other hand, can't stop wondering how many famous models he'll run into in the next couple of months.

Brittany gets up and drags her best friend along. They disappear into the hallway, where the lack of lightning submerges them into darkness. Santana touches the smooth face in front of her and frowns once she realizes what an amazing support Brittany has been the last couple of days.

"I like you." she suddenly whispers.

"Oh, I like you too." Brittany smirks.

But Santana shakes her head and stutters: "No, you don't understand. I really, _really_ like you."

An amused and joyous face starts nodding. Brittany starts wondering where this is going.

"I really, really like you too." she assures her best friend.

Their hands entwine as the noises from the other room seem to get louder. The talking has transformed into laughter and joking around. The two girls block it out though, and remain focussed on each other.

"No, Brittany, I …"

But the blonde stops her abruptly, putting her index finger on the fierce girl's pouty lips: "Santana?"

"Yeah?"

Brittany replaces her finger with her lips and kisses her friend long and tenderly, until butterflies come flying out of their ears. Their hearts start pounding uncontrollably. This feels even better than standing in front of the camera. When they part again, both girls tremble.

"I _understand_." Brittany explains.

In that moment, Santana realized that she has been wrong. She doesn't just like Brittany, she's madly in love with her.

As the evening reaches its end, Brittany leaves after secretly kissing Santana for hours in the bedroom. The minute she's gone, Santana needs to catch her breathe for a while. She's tired, exhausted really, but the excitement of today keeps her awake. David knocks on her door around midnight to see if she's still up. When she invites him in, he finds her laying on top of her bed, staring at the ceiling. She hardly even blinks. Yes, Brittany kisses _that_ great.

"Are you okay, Miss Tyra Banks?"

Santana curls on her side and frowns: "What, you're saying I have a temper?"

Her cousin's entertaining smile doesn't fade until he's seated next to her. The mattress is wiggling back and forth. Santana's eyes inspect the place where Brittany usually lies when she spends the night. A concerned sigh leaves her mouth.

"I think I might be gay."

Unlike what she expected, David starts clapping.

"Look who finally dared to sneak out of her closet." he jokes.

"What?"

He ignores the insulted part and casually shrugs: "Please! I've spend numerous days and nights with you guys. I can see what's happening in the theaters, it's not that dark in there."

Santana's shocked face refrains from softening up. For once, there's no snarky response.

"And I've heard some slightly sexual noises too lately, which we'll totally ignore for now." David adds with a wink.

Now the girl's officially embarrassed, so she hides her gorgeous face with a pillow. Guess they aren't being as invisible as they assumed.

"I'll call them: AA meetings." the curly boy adds with certain mystery. "They are secretive, anonymous to the people you refuse to let in and the perfect place for addicts like you."

Santana scoffs at that comment: "Wow. That's really big of you."

Somehow, the sarcasm of her words gets lost.

"Thanks." he proudly chuckles.

His body lies down next to hers and they both end up staring at the blank ceiling above them. The cosy bedroom is quiet, which is nice for a change.

"You're handling all of this pretty okay." Santana reflects, crossing her arms behind her head. "You liked her a lot, didn't you?"

His answer is honest, but rational: "I liked her. But you love her, don't you?"

The world stops turning for a while, as she thinks things through. This feeling, it has now been confirmed. After the perfection of today, that little kiss in the hallway proved to be the best part of it all.

"Yes. I do."

* * *

"So, daddy L, I never asked you this: what school did you go to? Princeton, Yale, … I bet it was Harvard?"

Brittany takes a bite from the green apple she been playing around with. Her intrusive way of interrogating people amuses George. He sometimes wonders why Brittany spends so much time at their place, even when his daughter isn't around. Like now. She's off to some meeting with Rick Spencer again, since a new potential gig came up. It requires a lot of marketing and auditioning, this modeling thing. Luckily, there aren't many people as persistent as Santana Lopez. When George asked what the 'Riddick' stands for in the company name, the smooth and ever charming Rick came up with the funniest and most awkward explanation he had ever heard. The founders' names are Rick Spencer and Spencer Riddick. Both almost identically the same name, just the other way around.

"It gets confusing at parties sometimes." he laughed while saying it.

Rick Spencer 'guards' the headquarter while Spencer Riddick flies around the world, searching for clients and remarkable talent nobody else has found yet. In theory, neither George or Santana will ever meet Spencer Riddick in person. In practice, given a big enough career, Santana just might.

Brittany's still waiting for an answer, but George just leans back in his kitchen chair and studies the curious way his second, surrogate daughter keeps staring at him. She amuses him. She fascinates him. Even when she was younger, Brittany would come over to the house and ask about his favorite books. She followed his advice on exceeding the low literature standards at school and loved it. When he started pointing out her passion for movies, she volunteered to work at her parents' company during school breaks. George has always been a constant in Brittany's life. Especially during her early teenage years, when mom and dad were consumed by the dazzling stack of work that taking over the family business brought along. Unlike Santana, who wasn't the slightest interested in the arts department, she appreciated his efforts.

"Are you crazy?" he finally ridicules her words. "That's the dullest school on this planet. I went to Stanford. California, that's the place to be."

"Is it?" Brittany questions out loud.

He nods and a smile expresses the wave of memories takes control of him: "Great professors, great educational program. Great people."

"I'm going to apply there, too." Brittany admits.

She couldn't have said a thing that could make him feel more pleased or proud.

"Really? What for?"

She shakes her head, takes another bite of the green apple and smirks.

"Isn't that obvious? Documentary Film and Video."

"Following the family tradition, are we?" George insinuates.

After giving it a long thought, she shrugs: "I love movies. I love making movies. Is it in my genes or is it in my heart? Doesn't really matter, right? As long as I love doing it."

"I know." George apologizes calmly. "Would you like to go there, or do you have a bigger preference - somewhere else?"

He gets up on his feet and walks over to the counter to pour himself a cup of tea. A subtle gesture offers her one as well. She happily accepts. Daddy L makes the best tea.

Then, Brittany explains her choice: "Not really. I like California as well. Plus, I've just been told that Harvard's a bitch."

George laughs amusingly and rubs the top of his bald head. This girl is quite something. No wonder Santana can't last a day without her. This little one is going to make it in life. If there's anyone of the youngsters roaming around the Lopez house that sparkles that confidence in him, it's her.

"But they only accept, like, eight students a year. It's not going to be easy." Brittany resumes, as she swirls the tea with a spoon.

George has a way of helping her. Alumni that achieved the tittle of one of America's most respected and experienced arts professors still have a foot in the door somehow. And with Brittany's perfect grades, it can't be that hard to convince the dean.

"I'll see if I can get a good word in for you, okay? I know you're great. And talented. And you have this amazing gift of never getting tired of my daughter's exhausting and all-consuming love. That helps."

The way he looks at her makes her uncomfortable for a second. Her eyes flare up to the man that practically raised her. Even when he was away for business, visiting the Louvre in Paris or checking out Park Guëll in Barcelona for a week, he'd not only call his precious princess, but ring in to find out how Brittany was doing as well.

"That would be awesome, sir." she politely expresses her gratitude to him, carefully picking her words to avoid outing them before Santana has talked to him.

"Hey. Don't be silly. It's daddy L for you." he winks lovingly.

* * *

**There you have it: an update ... Hope you guys liked it.**

**Spread the word and let me know how you feel about it ;)**


	5. Aching desire

** Aching desire **

_2009 _

* * *

Word's going around about Santana's first big photoshoot. Any second now and her face will be glued all over town. Any second and hell will break lose in this school over it. She's always been one of the popular girls, but this will bring it to a whole new level. The girl can't wait for what's next concerning her career. That feeling of an entire crew being at your disposal, just to get one perfect shot - it's amazing. Modeling is, weirdly enough, hard work. You can spend hours waiting time before you even get on set - before the client, the model and the photographer are pleased about the result. She doesn't mind, though. She could stare at the lens and take positions for an eternity. Just like she could stare into Brittany's eyes for just as long.

Yesterday, they attended a rather illegal party at a friend's house. There was alcohol involved and a dark basement. Funny how, when parents leave for the weekend, kids really act like party animals. It was fun. It was crazy. It was the worst decision ever. Brittany and Santana walk around the schoolyard, both wearing sunglasses to hide from the sunlight. Their backpacks seems heavier than usual. So do their clothes. Even their eyelids.

"Fuck. I can't believe this. I drank so much water last night. I shouldn't be this hungover." Santana proclaims.

But instead of laughing over it, her girlfriend agrees: "Yeah, it's weird. You had like two drinks and you were wasted. But then again, you haven't eaten in days."

A protest gets launched rapidly, completely suppressing the cuteness of Brittany watching her eat: "It's not that I don't want to. I just haven't been feeling well."

Her pouting lips appears and it's too dead cute for Brittany to resist. She bends over and kisses the girl on the side of her lips, for everyone to see. They don't care. This doesn't bother them at all. Their sunglasses bump into each other, which makes them smile.

"I am about ninety nine percent sure I had my hands in someone's bra." Santana growls, trying to suppress the agonizing headache. "And let me tell you: it wasn't mine."

Santana wiggles her eyebrows suggestively and starts blushing: "It was mine."

They softly, suggestively smooch again and it makes both the girls shiver.

"You should've seen you while you were playing spin the bottle. I swear to God, you were like a magnet attracting that thing. You kissed everyone." Brittany proceeds recalling the events of the night. "I think I even have some footage of that on my phone."

Santana chuckles, barely remembering a thing. Her bestie is right: maybe it wasn't smart to drink without having a proper dinner. It's just that she and her health have been having some problems lately. This is so not the time for her to pick up the flu. Everything is going so well: she has another photoshoot lined up tomorrow. And a day later, another company has asked her to audition. She's just tired. It's an exhausting combination of school and work for the moment. Just as Brittany's about to wrap her arms completely love-fooled around her girl, a classmate walks up to them and calls out Santana's name. They both turn their heads, annoyed because of the interference. Can't they just kiss without being disturbed?

It's Caitlyn, Santana's lab partner. Immediately, the Latina starts sighing dramatically.

"Fuck, is this about yesterday? Did I kiss your boyfriend too? Because I'm sorry if I did but I can't remember shit. Man, girls are being a bitch to me all day long already." she complains, while excusing herself at the same time.

Caitlyn plays around with her brown hair for a moment before answering. She looks over to the both of them and utters a genuine look of confusion.

"What? No! Wait, I thought you were gay?"

Her fingers point to Brittany, who refrains from bursting into laughter.

"I am," Santana explains, "it's just - sometimes drunk me forgets that sober me likes girls."

Brittany intercepts the joke before it gets taken serious: "We played spin the bottle last night. Some girls didn't really like that she kissed their boyfriends."

Santana shrugs. This is no news to her. Kissing someone has always brought her into trouble. It's in her nature to want something someone else already has. Caitlyn clacks her tongue and raises a disturbed eyebrow before facing Santana again.

"Anyway, why I'm here for. I just wanted to congratulate you." she says, carrying a weirded out smile about the whole conversation.

"For what?" Santana doesn't seem to catch up.

Then, the girl offers her a copy of a magazine. They take off their sunglasses. Inside, on page number twelve, Santana finds herself staring at the selected picture from the photoshoot, where she joyously presents the new hair shampoo of L'Oréal. An enormous sense of pride overwhelms her. She did it. She looks absolutely gorgeous in the shot. With shaking hands and tearing eyes, she tries to memorize this very moment: the first time she ever laid eyes on her first professional campaign picture. Brittany helps her by snapping a picture.

"Wow. Thank you, Caitlyn. This is … Can I keep it?" she rambles.

The girl agrees and congratulates her once more before leaving them behind. Brittany leans over her girlfriend's shoulder to admire the great work she did and can't stop gasping.

"I have a supermodel girlfriend. Maybe I should ask you to marry me right now, before you skip town with Heidi Klum."

Santana softly smiles, still silenced by her own accomplishment and bliss, when a nearby fellow student lifts his hand and waves at her. Santana, never the one to turn down a sexual being, smirks her most attractive smirk and waves back, which makes the guy blush. He walks over to her and with wanting eyes, he inspects her from head to toe. Santana seems to like it and asks him what's on his mind. The known football player, Ben, tries to act cool as he invites her to check out practice later tonight but it's obvious how much he had to work himself up to come and talk to her. The second he looks over to Brittany, her demolishing and threatening expression scares him off.

"We already have plans tonight." she snaps. "We're going to watch movies over at my place."

Ben's green eyes frown before they point back to the gorgeous lady in front of him. She mesmerizes everyone around her, as always. Becoming a model will only make that worse. Because she doesn't want to think Brittany and she are weirdos, especially since Brittany is acting like one, she just puts her hands on top of his upper arm and excuses herself, telling him she promised Brittany already. After a smooth 'that's a shame', he walks off. She winks at him before turning around to face her girlfriend. But Brittany looks agitates as hell. This is such typical Santana behavior.

"Why'd you do that?" Brittany then asks in a grumpy way.

Unaware about the level of subconscious flirting she carries of, Santana shrugs innocently: "He looked cute being all nervous to ask me over. I couldn't help myself."

The other one remains silent and has a hard time getting rid of a nagging, jealous feeling.

"Why did you do that?" Santana strikes back the question.

Some fingers point at the angry face that's being shown and Santana tries to reenact the deadly look Brittany demonstrated a second ago.

But there's full denial going on: "What?"

While putting the magazine in her back, the newly discovered model goes on explaining what just happened.

"You practically scared him away, made sure I'd come over to your place and not his. I know what you are doing, Brittany." she states cocksure.

But instead of being mad about it, she winks to accompany her smooth smirk. Brittany turns away, completely ignoring what she just said, but suddenly remembers a part of the explanation.

"Oh, did you want to go to his place then? So, what, you wanna date him?"

The green monster is getting a hold of her, that's for sure. Santana thinks it's so cute. The fierceness in sweet, gentle Brittany's eyes is such a turn on. They entwine hands and the worked up blonde seems to soften up.

"No, I don't want to date him." Santana tells her explicitly.

"Why not?"

"Why not?" Santana repeats while ridiculing the words that came out almost disappointed. "Because I wanna date you. And I think it's dead cute when you get jealous over some stupid boy. It's flattering, really, you wanting me all to yourself."

Brittany, not denying the fact that she's jealous, shrugs hesitantly: "Maybe you just see me as a friend."

Santana cups the cutest face ever, bends over and kisses her friend passionately for four hot seconds. It takes Brittany's breathe away. Literally: her lips are trembling.

"Do your friends kiss you like that?"

A recovering, heated up Brittany steps back and thinks about it: "Not all of them."

Santana pokes her with her index finger and replaces the backpack over her shoulder before walking along. But as they pass the principal's building and silence has become the head player in their game, Brittany stops to face Santana again and nervously changes her entire attitude.

"Just laugh at me all you want. See, you might not have figured it all out, but it's actually very simple, Santana. If you keep going to boys, I'll never be able to help you find it …"

Frowning happens while curiosity rises above: "Find what?"

They are blue today, with the sun shining bright, as her eyes pierce deeply into Santana's soul.

"True love." Brittany softly explains.

She winks at her and has a look around to check how many people are staring at them. Ten, this far. They are all holding the same magazine. Guess hell is starting to break loose.

"We should go to class." Santana suggests, still swooning over the romantic comment.

Still, she wants to make something crystal clear before they head to class. Yes, she flirts with people. Yes, it drives Brittany crazy. But it means nothing to her. Not a single thing. Her hand finds Brittany's and she presses it closely to her heart. It's racing, but only because she's staring at the most gorgeous person she's ever seen.

"Look, I don't remember birthdays. I forget your favorite dessert and I am terrible when it comes to handling family in law, as you're about to find out. But I am madly in love with you. That circles through my mind 24/7. And I am not afraid of kissing you in public or holding your hand. I am afraid that you will hurt me - that one day, you'll fall out of love with me and walk away. And I'll be the one lying on the ground, crying her eyes out."

The heartwarming confession makes Brittany stop breathing for a while and she blinks a few times before words even can be formulated in her mouth.

"I won't do that." she promises.

But doubt has always been a secret killer: "How do you know that?"

For the first time, they've been this fragile about their relationship. They were best friends for years. Though this seems a natural development, there are no rules, no strict boundaries. Are they exclusively dating or just fooling around? Is this the way their connection was supposed to end up, because it feels like it does and they both want it so very much that it scares them.

"Because you are the girl that always gets what she wants, remember?" Brittany explains, somehow finding truth in that ancient old phrase Santana always gets thrown at.

Her hand is still positioned on the beating of Santana's heart and the two of them look at it for a while before considerate analyzing makes the sixteen-year-old diva open her mouth.

"Well, I don't want anyone if it isn't you."

Everyone at the schoolyard is staring at them. The recently discovered model and her loyal best friend. They are Brittany and Santana, the inseparable twins. And they are kissing, in the middle of all the teenage turmoil, because it is, in fact, the most natural thing in the world to them.

* * *

A sleepover has evolved to a full-blown make out session. The big explosion of Santana's premiere and past few photoshoots are lingering as they are feeling each other up sexually. Once again, the house is deserted and instead of spending the evening over at Brittany's, as planned, a quiet night together seemed such a better idea than hogging the couch next to Brittany's parents. They are over the part where they softly kiss each other with an utter sense of love.

Right now, hands are everywhere - mostly grabbing boobs - and teasing the insides of thighs in the dark room is a reflex. An aroused panting reverberates through their mouths as they forcefully push their bodies against each other.

They didn't plan this. An hour ago, they set up everything to watch a movie together. Normally, Santana goes through some fashion magazines while Brittany devotedly analyzes every little part of a classic film nobody of their generation watches anymore. She's so determined to succeed as an editor later, it's enough to drag Santana along with her obsession. But they accidentally stared at each other for too long and once Santana slowly started licking the tasty lips of her girlfriend, Brittany's restraint broke down immediately. An aching desire kicked in. In a natural series of events, the softness turned into hormonally driven desire. Aching feelings made fingers explore the places where you usually don't touch your friends. But those two aren't just friends anymore. They are crazy for being more - being in love and intimate. Brittany starts pulling her partner's shirt up, while their foreheads remain in contact for as long as possible. She's panting, they both are actually, but it's a nervousness taking over right now. They both know they are going to take this to a next level tonight. It just feels too good to stop and they are ready for it. Eleven years of friendship might count as a solid base to bring your relationship to the next level.

The background movie provides romantic music and once in a while, a character speaks its mind, but never for too long. Santana's fingers run up and down Brittany chest once she loses her shirt. All there's left is a bra now, like in her last photoshoot, where she partnered up with the famous male model Greg Klein, who has appeared in over a hundred magazines. Santana was crazy nervous when she met him, but the impressive supermodel turned out to be a shy and introvert young man, seriously focused on the job. They made wonderful pictures together, though it took a while before the required chemistry fit into the story. Something about them didn't click.

But the chemistry with Brittany has no boundaries or delay. They set each other on fire unintentionally. Santana feels the soft breasts she has been dreaming of for weeks now. Even though the girls know everything about each other, they've respectively kept calm ever since they started kissing and fooling around a couple of weeks ago. They both spoke out on the desire to slowly approach things instead of jumping each other right away. It was hard, but they did it.

Now, they're sick of it. Now, they just want to get into the other one's pants. Brittany crawls on top of her girlfriend and presses her lower body deep down. When a soft moan escapes her mouth as Santana massages the cheeks of her butt, the Latina nearly explodes. There's a warmth and wetness between her legs that's never been there before. Just hearing Brittany's voice so fragile and turned on does things to her body she can't explain. Her hands slide back to the front of the blonde's pants and they start unbuttoning the skinny jeans. She feels nervous and has to swallow to power through the anxiety of the moment.

At the same time, Brittany has left Santana's mouth to kiss the upper side of her bra-wearing boobs. She sucks and licks the skin in such an educated way she must have dreamt about it before. Every once in a while, one of them smiles mischievous, which lightens up the mood. The girls are so ready to explore each other's naked body until the break of dawn - there are no words for it. Santana wants to taste what Brittany tastes like. And Brittany will let her.

Until … in a flash, everything's happening at once. The front door loudly opens and two laughing brothers storm up the stairs in a contest. They run past the half-open door of Santana's room, conveniently forgetting to sneak inside and, by the sound of it, jump on top of Eli's bed with all the much needed noise. The girls, startled by the surprise visit, remain seated on top of each other and gasp for air while all their movements abruptly stop. David's voice reverberates and it's been made clear that he's on the search for his cousin. The love-fool girls quickly start gathering their lost clothes. Luckily, they haven't gotten very far.

Brittany flattens her hair with both hands and sits down next to her girlfriend for a change. Just as the fabric of Santana's shirt slides back over her upper body, David storms into the room, announcing his arrival. Luckily, it's poorly lit and he can't see just how flaming red and caught the girls look.

"Oh, Brittany. You're here. Well, of course you are. How are you?"

"We're fine." she nervously utters. "Just, you know, watching a movie."

In that exact moment, she subtly wipes some of Santana saliva off her lower lip.

"Fuck." Santana growls, channeling her frustration. "Knock much?"

David looks at her and apologizes with pressing lips. Then, he knocks on the book shelf to his right, but Santana can't appreciate the humor. Her cousin aims his sight at the television an recognizes the one that's playing.

"I love that one!" he states, before diving in between them to watch along.

An annoyed Santana crosses her arms as she buries the sexy plans she had in mind. If he hadn't come home, she'd be doing a lot of nasty things to Brittany's body by now. Wouldn't she love to do that!

Now she's just sitting in her bed, next to an ignorant cousin of hers and her gorgeously, sexually worked up girlfriend, who's secretly buttoning up her pair of jeans. David doesn't pick up on it. He just grabs a bag of chips located next to the bed and has a taste. Just as Santana thought this evening couldn't get any worse, an overly social Eli enters the room as well. He says hi and welcomes himself to the party. The boy takes a seat left from Santana and starts frowning while he spies an detail in the dark.

With a directing finger, he points out an anomaly: "You are wearing your shirt inside out."

Santana's expression turns into a desperately caught one and she swallows loudly while hoping Brittany won't burst into laughter. Luckily, the girl doesn't, but she catches David looking her way with a mouth full of potato chips. He checks the facts and sees a label hanging down at the exterior of her outfit. To his right, there's an overly amused Brittany biting her lower lip, trying to keep a serious face. That's when he puts one and one together and turns his head back towards the television, covered in shock. He repositions his body and crawls down on the ground next to the bed, because something tells him sexual things have been happening at the exact same spot he was seated. Eli follows his example and grants both of them some pillows laying around, only to bury his hand in the bag of potato chips a second later. Santana still hasn't moved a muscle. She's feeling seriously hot, both from being turned on and almost getting caught. Also, she's mad, because she really wanted to sleep with Brittany.

Luckily, the blonde has less problems with publicity and she dives under the sheets to cover both of them cosily. She leans her head on Santana's shoulders after softly nibbling her earlobe in secret. Goosebumps take control over the Latina's skin. Teasing should be illegal.

"You know," Brittany whispers barely noticeable. "we should take a selfie and remember this as the night we almost had sex for the first time."

When they finally look at each other, sweetly wrapped up under the fabric, they burst into girlish giggling. Ironically, they actually take the shot. The cousins don't even turn their heads around. They have become immune to AA-giggling around here.

If only they'd learn how to knock. A mom would've learned them how to freaking knock.

* * *

It's time. They've dreamt about it, they nearly truly did it. Now they need a plan to make it actually happen. It's hard to be best friends who go to school together, share hobbies and are semi-secretly in love. Because every single time they get lost in the well-known game of staring for countless minutes straight, they ache for an hour alone, where the discovery of each other's body will get to its climax. They've shared every emotion a person can experience. Anger, joy. Angst, trust. Love, hate. Desire, numbness. Now there's only one left.

In this phase of their relationship, desire speaks the loudest. Santana dreams about the shape of her best friend's body, the way her small boobs press against the fabric of her shirt and the sexy butt that's exposed whenever she bends over to pick something up. She remember how her skin felt when she touched it. How her lips hovered over hers during a kiss. How Brittany's hips moved into her crotch just before David and Eli interrupted them. She thinks about it during class or in the middle of a meeting with Rick Spencer, her manager. It makes her heart race and her body heat up. There's no focus, no other goal in life than getting into Brittany's pants for now.

She can't stand the feeling anymore. Something must be done. And she decides that tonight is the night.

Brittany's in drama class. A theatre piece is coming up and that demands a lot of her free time. Not only does she insist on being the director, no, she has a small role as well. Three cameras, attached to the ceiling and both sides of the stage, record the end result. That gets edited into a nice movie, a memory that the club sells to raise money. And because all parents are, like, morally obliged to pay to see their kids mediocre performance again one day, it's pure gold.

Santana digs deep in her backpack to find her phone buried underneath a couple of books she has barely looked at this year. She's a smart girl, studying doesn't require a lot from her. Just a few hours before a big test. She likes to read magazines and newspapers, but the intelligent stuff, that's her girlfriend's strong side. It baffles her how incredibly talented Brittany is. Time after time, she aces tests and papers. As a bonus, the girl actually like to read. Not just the Twilight kind of teen books. No, the actual heavy work, like Hemingway and Shakespeare. Tons of books written by authors that carry last names too foreign to pronounce linger across Santana's room. Her girlfriend brings them along and forgets to take them home after she finishes the literary masterpieces. Somehow, though, it makes Santana feel smart. Just the presence of the work. Perhaps in a magical world, the intellect could radiate off at night and nestle in her brain. A girl can hope, right?

She yawns away the exhausted feeling that's terrorizing her body ever since she started the double student/model feature. Fooling around with Brittany at night doesn't exactly help. Not that she's complaining. Tomorrow is another shoot. This time, they're bringing her over to Los Angeles. The city of dreams and extraordinary careers. She'll be auditioning for a major, nationwide campaign. Following, Spencer scored her a gig at a runway. It's the first time she'll be taking part at one of those, so they've been practicing for days now, carefully being watched and coached - and yelled at - by the notorious expert Alexis Djokovic. That's right, he sounds Russian enough to scare a young girl out of her mind. And he does. Both of the gigs, whether she gets the role or not, require all her limited level of experience. Rick keeps telling her what a natural talent she is and he's been putting a lot of time and effort - and money - into training her. It's rare to see a business man so invested in one of his products, so it's flattering to know he's totally committed. Therefor, Santana's committed too. She can't let him down. Not by blanking out during the shoot or that ridiculously demanding walk down a runway. This thing between Brittany and her needs to be resolved as quickly as possible. You know, for the sake of her career.

Santana laughs thinking that through. Yeah, not even she is buying that theory. Her fingers select the cute picture of her super cute girlfriend and exactly ten seconds later, the low, soft voice she was raised with greets her.

"Hello, sweetie." it says.

Santana decides to slap herself in the face later, because it can't be healthy to squeal this hard internally every single time Brittany calls her that. What a wuss she's becoming.

"Hey." she reacts disgustingly girly. "I need to see you tonight. Tomorrow I'll be in Los Angeles until Saturday and you must understand: I need to see you tonight."

Brittany chuckles through the phone, picking up the hidden message.

"Some things you simply can't discuss over FaceTime, can you?" she teases shamelessly.

There's not really a reaction, only some ridiculous laughter.

"My parents are at home." Brittany suddenly tells her.

Not exactly what the other one had imagined.

"Fuck, the house is crowded too. You know what, take your parents' car and come get me."

Brittany scoffs and frowns: "What? Why?"

"Because we're going to have sex in your parents car."

But the blonde isn't exactly excited about the idea: "Are you kidding me?"

Surrounded by the fellow students she has joined at the school yard, Santana lowers her voice a bit before answering: "Believe me, I don't joke about those kind of things."

The blonde stares out the window of the auditorium, hoping she'll see her beloved supermodel walking by in a hurry. This is the time Santana normally runs to her car, to get home before traffic jams start blocking the roads.

"I will not have sex with you for the first time in my parents' car. I refuse to." she clarifies while tapping her fingers against the glass.

Santana sighs away her disappointment and checks her watch. Just a few minutes before getting home might take too long. Fucking traffic. She makes her way over to the parking lot.

"Okay, then … Then we'll just hang out in my room. Watch a movie, eat some popcorn. That other thing can wait." she surrenders, realizing how quickly they're running out of options.

Somewhere deep inside of her heart, she's serious about it. Simply doing nothing with Brittany is good enough for her. Being boring with her is still the best feeling in the world.

"I hate waiting." Brittany pouts, experiencing the same amount of sexual frustration.

Suddenly, her favorite face in the world appears in the distance. A goddess herself crosses the path to get to her car. That goddess calls her 'babe'.

"Oh, not as much as I do." Santana sighs.

She turns her face towards the building across the grass field to her right and stops for a second. Of course Brittany's staring at her. She always is.

"Santana?" the blonde softly, yet anxiously utters.

She sees the moving lips of her best friend across the field, holding on to her phone: "Yes?"

"I don't want you to flirt with other people anymore. I want you all to myself. I want to be your girlfriend, for real."

Some people, standing behind her, lift a curious eye over the comment. But they all know who she's talking to - who she's always talking to. The hot model, Santana Lopez. Her inseparable twin.

Santana's heart starts racing and the thought of having Brittany all to herself excited her enormously: "Well, weren't we already heading that way?"

Her great vision discovers the smiling expression on Brittany's relaxed face. She nods.

"Jealous, much?" Santana insinuates.

It's too obvious to even deny it, so Brittany shrugs: "Wouldn't you, when you're seeing a superstar."

That's when the girl outside throws her free hand up in the air, facing the sky with a dramatic allure that can't be recreated. Brittany giggles.

* * *

"So, tomorrow you're going to meet all the big models in L.A., huh?"

Santana looks over to her girlfriend, who's going through a Photoshop tips and tricks manual, and shrugs completely unimpressed. Somehow, meeting models doesn't impress her anymore. She's been doing this for weeks now. She's seen so many. It's surreal how her star has risen. No, it hasn't risen, it has exploded. Those famous people call her by her first name now and she hasn't even met them yet. Twitter's full of her pictures, Tumblr manipulates her face on top of dirty images already. But Santana's only in it for the experience of glamorously posing in front of the camera and staring at the end-result in a size ten times her realistic height. She loves how a photo session can make make her feel. Almost as good as Brittany can. Plus, she's earning a shitload of money.

They are in Brittany's bedroom, doing exactly what they love, with no loud noises surrounding them. The girls enjoy the quietness that the Pierce residency can bring. Even with both parents at home, there's hardly even a sound to be detected. It's such a difference from Santana's house. Five men and a young lady under one roof is a prescription for trouble.

They already jumped into their pajamas. A matching set of shorts and sleeveless T-shirts, each its own color. The blonde girl inspects the state of her room. She cleaned up nicely before her girlfriend's arrival. All her books are organized alphabetically on the top shelf. Underneath it, there's nothing but photo's of Santana and her. Her bed has new sheets, the pillows have been sprayed with perfume. The wallpaper just barely made it - it was too late to rip it off and replace it with a more modern motive. Yes, that's just how nervous Brittany gets whenever Santana spends the night lately. She doesn't realize that Santana couldn't care less about the charisma or fine-tuning of the room. All she cares about is wasting time with her loved one before she flies out of town the first thing in the morning.

"Kathy's going to be there. She texted me this afternoon."

Brittany looks confused: "Who?"

"Kathy McGrath. Hot. Brunette. Asian roots. Gorgeous brown eyes."

Forgot to mention: renown superstar. But the enthusiastic way of describing the fellow model makes her girlfriend feel a bit insecure, to say the least.

"Yeah. Not really helping me cope with you skipping school to spend the week with a bunch of hot models."

Of course, Santana doesn't mean anything by _fangirling_ over the notoriously known supermodel that's been on the cover of nearly every famous fashion magazine. She's just one of her idols, a professional she looks up to. Someone who's taught her so much by just analyzing her poses and expressions in all the magazines Santana has been collecting for years now.

"Shut up. You know I've worked with her last month on that Fossil advertisement. She's cute - funny even - but rumor has it she's a fan of the Cotton Ball Diet. I like girls that eat. Pizza, hamburgers, french fries, …"

Brittany snorts: "Healthy shit, you mean?"

"Even fruit and veggies couldn't top it." her girlfriend decides while jumping next to her on the bed.

She runs some fingers through the soft blonde hairs and smiles without realizing it.

"Hey. You are more gorgeous to me than all these girls lined up next to each other. You know that, right?"

"You sure do make me feel that way." Brittany admits.

The girls lean in to kiss. It's amazing how Santana can reverse the roles and make Brittany look like the professional model. Even during shoots, she doesn't shy away from dragging her lady love on set to pose in the most excessive and fun ways - even is she's opposed. The photographers seem to enjoy the careless side of it all, most of the time. Rick Spencer, on the other hand, he's just determined to make her a superstar. And playing around isn't exactly helping to complete that goal.

Brittany's soft lips start blurring the model's mind. The way she directs them, makes them hover over her own pouty mouth. Her nerves tingle under Brittany's touch, like she'll explode if this goes on for much longer. Her fingers grab the tiny straps of the pajama shirt hanging from the blonde's upper body. A worked up feeling starts building deep inside of her and she stares with fierceness and desire into the clear blue eyes. The tension is noticeable. Almost touchable.

"You know we can't do this." Brittany whispers, experiencing the exact same thing as her girlfriend.

But Santana's ready to overlook the more doubtful excuses: "Why not?"

Her fingers linger over the pale skin that's close to hers. She feels the goosebumps that are caused by her touch. After a few seconds, her movements lead her to the lower parts of Brittany's boobs and the blonde starts biting her lower lip in frustration.

"Starts with 'm', ends with 'ama'!" Brittany explains.

In a faint attempt to make the fooling around stop, she lays her hands on top of Santana's. But truthfully, that's all she does. No actual pressure to push them away, no body language that actually expresses the need to put an end to this. Her desire is taking over.

"Michelle Obama?" Santana jokes, while she moves her mouth to the blonde's neck.

She softly caresses it with her tongue and slides the tips of her fingers along Brittany's trembling waist.

"Fuck …" the girl utters, condemning the playful way Santana keeps stroking the skin of her breasts.

But it's an unfortunate choice of words, given the events: "That's what I was proposing."

If they don't stop now, Brittany will rip her little pajamas to pieces. She's so certain about that fact that it scares her. It rotates in her mind like a pinwheel. A really, big, colorful rainbow pinwheel. To make things even worse, she hears her parents walking around a level below them.

"Spare bedroom. Now." she orders her girlfriend.

They can't keep this up all night. Someone has to sleep in another bed.

A defeated Santana throws her hands up in the air and crawls on her knees: "Okay. Okay. I'll go."

She grunts while stepping off the bed and deeply inhales to get rid of the aching desire between her legs. She looks at her girlfriend and sighs, despite the events, completely happy. Brittany's probably right. She's tired - so very tired - and her dad will be here first thing in the morning to pick her up. Rick Spencer wants her at the airport around six a.m., which is ridiculously early. Nothing about what she had in mind was smart. Rest is so very important when it comes to focussing on the job. A quiet night, in a quiet house will work its magic.

The spare bedroom is located right across Brittany's. It has a really big bed, soft pillows and it smells like red roses in there. But as she turns her head around to sneak a final peek at the love of her life, she catches Brittany stretching out on the bed. Her muscled, tiny body squirms over the sheets. It hits her, every single time anew, just how beautiful this person is, inside out. With the door knob in her hand, she considers her options. There's no way she'll get a decent night of sleep with Brittany lying across the hall. So she shuts the door, even turns the key in the lock, and fiercely walks back to the bed. A surprised Brittany looks up to her and frowns, not really sure what to expect. But then a determined Santana takes off her shirt and two blue eyes run up and down her half naked body like it's a piece of art. The Latina crawls on top of her girlfriend and positions herself in between her legs, strategically pushing their groins together, and passionately kisses her. Brittany heaves an aroused sigh and then smiles in a naughty way.

"What are you doing?" she pants rather quickly.

Her hands grope the beautifully shaped breasts that are pressed against her chest, because she'd be stupid not to. The touch of her fingers makes Santana moan in a very quiet way. Still, Brittany picks up on it. It makes her lady parts tingle.

"I just really want to make it clear to you." Santana clarifies in between sloppy, heated kisses.

Brittany sucks her girlfriend's lower lip and smirks: "What?"

But all of a sudden, the actions stop. She finds Santana staring into her eyes with a level of open-heartedness she's never seen before.

"How I feel about you."

Brittany's heart skips a beat and her face lights up: "So … are you telling me you're in love with me?"

But Santana shakes her head self-assuringly: "I'm showing you."

They kiss again, this time it feels more intimate and sincere. Brittany's shirt gets pulled over her head and when their bare upper bodies touch, they both tremble from excitement.

"You better be really quiet," the nervous blonde rambles, "because if my mom …"

Funnily, Santana's had enough of it and can't even be bothered to stop her journey of the body underneath her for a split second.

"Shut up or I'll call your mom." she threatens in an amusing way.

"No, seriously, Santana -"

But Brittany's mouth gets cupped by a hand and the most naughty smile appears. With a loud voice, Santana shouts the word 'mom' through the room and a panicking Brittany fights her way from underneath her to make her stop. They both laugh for a while, to the point where they're both snoring, wearing nothing more than some panties and shorts. How can this be so funny?

Brittany gives in, though, while carefully observing the naked chest of Santana in front of her and nods with an appreciating smile: "Okay, okay. Now just … go on with kissing me. And be quiet."

Santana's face lights up and she does as she's told. Her index finger slowly slips behind the fabric of her girlfriend's shorts. She professionally lowers them inch by inch as the kissing remains a constant. Brittany's feet kick the panties off her ankles and proceeds to do the same thing with Santana. The kissing stops and they stare at each other's nudity with a shaking breathe. That's when the teenage desire to have sex with each other transforms into the need to make love.

Lips and fingers make a discovering journey from their breasts to their soaking cores. They touch each other in places they haven't before and it feels exhilarating. It makes their bodies move without permission and writhe over the sheets in a beautiful way. The first one to collapse under the massively sexual tension they share is Brittany, and an unknown wave of ecstasy invades her body. She loses control over everything and feels her muscles cramping up, everywhere inside her body. A silent shriek reverberates though the room - but even if she would scream out loud and accidentally draw her parents' attention, she wouldn't mind at all right now. Ultimately, the body feels completely numb, exhausted, drenched empty. She kisses her girlfriend so intensely that she grabs her in a rough way, because she literally can't get any closer to her. So this is what an orgasm feels like? Damn, she could do that every single day.

Her eyes flare up to the person that's about to hit a climax as well. Her groin is moving up and down in the palm of Brittany's hand, uncontrollably thrusting it faster and faster with every second that passes. A face that nearly can't take it anymore fascinates her endlessly. Then, simultaneously with the abrupt end of thrusting, it lights up in a beautiful way. Closed eyes lose the squinting appearance while trembling lips force a loud moan to remain quiet. Santana's sweaty body drops down on top of Brittany's, completely exhausted, yet satisfied.

She's going to miss this while Santana is gone.

* * *

**Fanfiction is being a bitch - couldn't upload my chapter - but now it finally worked.**

**Hope you liked it ;) **

**Leave your comments!**


	6. Acceptance

**Acceptance**

_2009_

* * *

Their first night together certainly wasn't the last. After another few secretly sleepless hours in one bed, the girls yawn over the break of day. Santana barely has enough time to crawl out of bed, sneak out of the house and get a shower at her place. She told her dad she was spending the night at Brittany's. Problem is, Brittany told her parents the truth about their relationship. How it has evolved from friendship over being soulmates to being in love. Now, the Pierce family has been wonderful over that revelation, it's just that Brittany feels a bit weird now, asking permission to let Santana spend the night. It used to be a thing that came naturally. Santana came by, Santana spent the night - nothing weird about it.

Now it is. It's so weird. Just thinking about asking her mom and dad's permission for Santana to spend the night makes her feel nauseous. Because they aren't stupid. They know just how fast lesbians go. They know they have sex.

As a way to go around the official asking for a favor thing, Brittany just sneaks Santana in once they loudly said their goodbyes at the front door for mom and dad to see. It's stupid, because there's no way in hell that they fall for it. But as long as they pretend, that's okay for the daughter.

Santana has gathered her clothes and runs some fingers through her hair before she jumps back on the bed to playfully kiss a half-naked Brittany on the mouth. She's tired as hell, but it's worth it. They both get up and after some giggling moments, where both of them can't stop groping each other, Santana decides it's more than about time to head home and take a shower.

"I'll be fucking late." she explains. "And you'll miss first class for waiting for me. You, my friend, are not capable of missing a class."

The truth is sad, because Brittany would really be upset about missing it. That's how geeky she is. And how well Santana knows her.

The latter makes her way through the door, still pulling down her shirt, when she gets yanked back into the room. Just as she's about to utter a genuine "What the fuck?", Brittany cups her mouth. Obviously, this is about the parents. A scouting blonde roams the hallway and after a few boring seconds, Santana notices weird noises coming from her girlfriend. She's basically trying reenact an animal suffering an excruciating death. With eyes ready to physically crucify her lady lover to a nearby wall, Santana appears in the hallway, staring at her girlfriend with the most impressive expression ever.

"What the hell?" she whispers, pointing at her mouth.

But there's no time to clarify. Brittany pulls her down the hall until she has to refrain herself from pushing Santana down the stairs. This resolves in the Latina giving her a death-look. Such a lovely couple.

A few steps down, an abrupt break, a few steps up again. Santana pulls her girl close to her chest and kisses her firmly on the mouth. It makes the blonde one smile in a girly way. Then, she watches the gorgeous model descend her stairway. It's like the sight alone mesmerizes her, makes her repress all the things happening around her. Just as Santana is about to leave the house and shut the door behind her, a voice reverberates through the house. It makes her freeze right to the spot.

"Good morning, Santana!" Mrs. Pierce shouts all the way from the kitchen.

Brittany's utopia ends right that second. It sinks to the ground and kills itself once it hits rock bottom. Defeated, and - let's be honest - caught, the girl makes her way downstairs. Santana is still gloating at the front door, bites her lower lip with joy and shouts back.

"Good morning, Mrs. Pierce."

It gives her the opportunity to kiss Brittany again. She leaves a second later and the youngest resident of the house makes her way over to her mom. Like nothing just happened, she sits down at the kitchen table. But her mom's staring at her, enjoying this way too much.

"Sleep well?" she asks.

After a loud swallow, nervous words roll over Brittany's tongue: "I did."

She stuffs her mouth with pancakes and remains quiet as long as nobody asks her anything. Her mother recognizes the teenage behavior from a long time ago when she was about that age and crazy in love.

"Honey, it's okay for Santana to sleep over. She's been doing that for many, many years."

Brittany looks her way and digests the last bit of dough in her mouth. Her phone starts buzzing. It's a text message from Santana, ridiculing the encounter.

"It's not exactly the same anymore, is it?" Brittany hints at the development of their relationship.

But her mother shrugs and sighs all nostalgically. There used to a time when she snook out of bedrooms.

"Just don't get her pregnant, okay?" she winks at her daughter after a while.

The girl had a piece of pancake pierced on her fork, but surprisingly, the appetite has disappeared magically.

* * *

Reunited around the dinner table, everything seems perfectly normal for a change. Uncle Aaron, David, Eli, granddad and George - everybody's present. Brittany and Santana join the manhood, after a long day at a photo studio. The blonde did her homework and read a book about the history of cinematography. Santana joined forces with Silvie Vermeer, a Dutch model on the rise. The girl is extremely thin. In fact, she' so thin that Santana looked fat for a second, standing next to her. With her long, blonde hair and bright blue eyes, the girl's a walking stereotype. And even Santana has to admit: the girl's drop dead gorgeous. She was sweet as hell as well. When it comes to the unmanageable attitudes of models, Santana hasn't seen much of it up until now. Maybe it's because she's mostly in contact with those who haven't exactly reached stardom yet. They're all still working hard to land their big, breakthrough gig. It keeps them humble, being turned down at auditions, defeated by a more experienced or prettier colleague. Santana hates the part when someone else lands the shoot, but that's just part of the job.

"Now tell me," David asks his cousin with a stuffed mouth, "why is it that you never bring the models you work with home for dinner?"

The others laugh: he would like that, wouldn't he.

"I can take you to my next gig." Santana informs him. "I heard Julia Danes might take part in it."

Nobody really seems impressed and a tongue-tied Santana throws both hands up in shock.

"The girl from the Armani ad?"

Nobody really responds. They look at her as if she's talking about a ghost.

"The one where she's against the wall, staring at the ground."

She wiggles her hand near her left ear.

"Short, blonde hair. Sharp face. Green eyes."

Still, it doesn't ring a bell. She can't believe these people! Her fingers nervously start tapping the table, but Brittany's rough movement quickly puts an end to the annoying habit.

"She's half naked, only wearing a pair of jeans." Santana finally spills the beans. "White bra."

That's when all their eyes light up all of a sudden.

"Seriously?" she scoffs.

Half the guys start blushing. Santana is never shy to call them out on their male bullshit. Even Brittany has to admit she's just as shallow. Given the fact that they have awesome sex, Santana is willing to forgive her just this time.

"Well. All right. If that's the way you look at these hardworking, career driven girls, that's fine. Just keep in mind that every single emotion you experience by staring at their perfect ass, their beautiful breasts and their ravishing bodies … every single man staring at photos of me experiences the exact same thing." she clarifies.

Suddenly, George's face turns dark. He did not want to think about that. It's worse enough to see her parading in front of a dozen men in her bikini's during shoots. Now he actually has to acknowledge that there are perverts on the planet that get very detailed and nasty ideas just by looking at his daughter.

"We get the point." David clarifies, while Brittany remains quiet, trying hard not to get jealous by overthinking Santana's explanation.

Granddad coughs in between drinks and decides to change the subject: "How was school this week?"

See, granddad is nothing if not efficient. Instead of asking her that exact same question every day, he waits until Saturday to show interest and save both of them some time.

"Good. Failed a test about math, though. But Jules said she'd help me get my grades up."

It's been hard juggling work and school. Everybody knows that. But George, as an academic, believes in the concept of education and getting a high school diploma is a start. So does Brittany.

"Why didn't you study harder?" her father asks.

"Because I had two photoshoots this week." she growls. "And it's not like math is the only course there is. English, geography, science - they teachers all came up with mandatory assignments and papers."

Granddad Nicolas shares his opinion: "You know how important a good education is, Santana. This modeling thing can't get in the way of your graduation."

But his granddaughter is ultimately disappointed that they can't understand just how hard she's trying to make it all work. Brittany puts her hand on her lap, secretly, under the table. It should calm her down a bit. Eli and David start whispering to each other, but the girls quickly learn it's not about them.

"This is what I want to do, granddad." Santana suddenly speaks up. "I love this job. I'm crazy good at it; it seriously doesn't feel like working. And it pays really, really well. I earn a ridiculously amount of money for someone my age. I can always go to college after all of this fades out. It's just one bad grade."

The desperation in her voice is heartbreaking. She's never been the genius Brittany is, but she has always tried to pass every test thrown her way.

"You ought to be more like Brittany." George decides. "She studies hard and keeps working during weekends and holidays. You know, she could learn you one or two things actually."

But Santana is fed up with it and drops her fork. Her fingers entwine and support the freakishly annoyed face she's pulling. The girl gloats over some inner feelings and then turns her head to her father. Brittany recognizes the look and prays she won't go there.

"Yeah, like how to unhook a bra with one hand or secretly hold hands under the table, right?" she suddenly asks with a classic level of sass.

Brittany, just devouring a mouthful of mashed potatoes, nearly chokes in her food. She went there.

That's when the entire family freezes to the spot and utters the same word: "What?"

David knew enough, but an actual coming out wasn't scheduled in his agenda anytime soon.

"I'm gay." Santana shrugs, like it's the most normal thing in the world. "We're gay."

Her index fingers points out the two of them, while Brittany's trying not to move a muscle - hoping it'll make her invisible. They talked about coming out to Santana's family last week. This wasn't a scenario.

"Fanatically." she suddenly jokes to break the ice, but then quickly returns to looking serious.

An awkward silence fills up the space. Eli secretly smiles in his palms and just like the girls, he checks out the expressions coloring the older men in the household.

The one most comfortable with it all seems to be granddad. He just scoops up another part of the vegetables and winks at his favorite girls in the world: "That's great. Men are dicks."

Brittany puts her left hand in front of her mouth and starts smiling enthusiastically. When she turns her head to the right, she finds her girlfriend doing the exact same thing.

"So, you're telling me that Brittany is your girlfriend?" Santana's dad suddenly asks in a calm voice.

His daughter bravely nods.

"Well," George and his bold head utter after a long silence, "hasn't she always?"

Then he grabs the salad bowl in front of him and smiles.

"Things have certainly evolved from pushing the swing to discussing relationships with my little girls. But this is fun too."

Uncle Aaron leans in to him and starts to whisper: "Sapphic relationships."

An amused Eli, normally the quiet one around dinner time, pokes his father and entrusts him with very some important information: "We can hear you whisper."

Santana looks up to her father, suddenly realizing how nervous this is making her, and softens her attitude. But good old George seems to be okay with it. His approving head gesture means more to his little girl than she could've imagined. Some of them resume eating. Given, it tastes delicious. David finally catches the girls' attention. All he does is wink. Not so long ago, he'd be sad about not getting Brittany in the end. But that has changed. Even blind people can see how perfect those two are for each other.

"Well, look at the bright side." he announces. "The awesome thing is: in lesbian land, shopping could be considered a way of dating."

Santana starts smiling uncontrollably.

After dinner, after everything's cleaned up and every person is just too stuffed to barely walk around a minute longer, Santana and George disappear into the kitchen to talk things through. A very understanding and modern father stands there, assuring his daughter that there's absolutely nothing about her relationship with Brittany that makes him love her less. In fact, coming out to the family in such a convincing way only made him proud. It's a full-circle acceptance. They hug and process their emotions. The fragile heart positioned inside of Santana's even more fragile body feels relieved. But there's still this other thing they obviously need to discuss. The sleeping over thing.

"Is it okay for you if Brittany spends the night? I mean, if you think it's weird, than that's okay for us." she stutters, looking anywhere but in his eyes.

Words have never felt this awkward. George gives it a thought. This is the sort of question students never ask him.

"I don't know. If it were a boy, that would be … different. Or shouldn't it?" he questions his morals out loud.

Santana bites her lower lip and squeezes one eye shut. Something about the next thing she'll say feels weird, but honesty has always been a big part of their father-daughter relationship. It could work.

"Okay, there are about a million reasons why I shouldn't be telling you this, but do you really think Brittany and I haven't taken advantage of the fact that our parents don't know we're … together together for the last couple of weeks?"

But her very modern father might not be modern enough for this very sexual revelation. The poor guy needs a couple of loud swallows to fight off some very persistent and detailed images of his daughter and her girlfriend.

"If you promise to never mention a thing like that again, she can spend the night all she wants."

She gratefully dives into his arms and whispers a silent 'I love you'. God, how his heart explodes when she does that.

* * *

As promised, Santana drags David along to her next job a week later. It's set in a park, a two hour drive away from home and Rick offered to drive her all the way there. Sadly, it's incredibly cold today and poor Santana just utterly hates being cold. She has mentioned it twice to Brittany, on the phone.

She gets to star along the rising phenomenon Julia Danes, who's been modeling for Armani, Burberry and even Dolce &amp; Gabbana in the last couple of months. When they meet, the short-haired model kisses Santana on the cheek. It doesn't take a lot of makeup to do her portfolio justice. God, she's gorgeous. Her unusual short hair - for a model anyway - suits her perfectly. They bring out the intense green in her eyes. But her attitude lacks the confidence of an aspiring model, Santana quickly notices. Seems like everything around the twenty-year-old gets decided by her boyfriend, a very controlling man called Justin. Not exactly a Timberlake, if you ask Santana. The man takes his girlfriend by the arm and leads her towards the photographer, only to yell at the man a second later over the lack of luxury around the place. Julia looks submissive and uninterested.

Santana frowns and turns her head to an impressed David. He's throwing around looks, staring at the giant capacity of the photoshoot and the so called fans that have gathered into two small groups. Santana waves at them from a distant and that makes them squeal with joy. The park's been closed off for visitors, only people with the right name tags get to enjoy the event. David happens to have one and is way too proud about that.

The girls disappear into the makeup trailer, where they talk about their past experiences for a while and get to know the artists that make them exceptionally beautiful. The girl transforming Santana into a fairy face is called Fran. She has a pixie haircut and dresses like an alternative fashion queen. Her arms are covered with tattoos and it doesn't take long before a curious sixteen year old starts asking about them.

"This one is for my wild past. And this for my mother. She died a few years ago. It's about the experiences we shared, the good and the bad. You know. Cliché thing." the rough makeup stylist summarizes.

"Oh, I'm sorry about your mom. Mine died after she gave birth to me."

The softness and innocence in her voice makes Fran realize just how young the newfound favorite of Rick Spencer is. She apologizes for being so blunt.

"It's okay." Santana tells her. "It's nice to know I'm not alone."

Julia, conspicuously remaining quiet in her chair, doesn't move a muscle. Her phone is being kept anxiously between her legs, just in case it might ring. Something about that boyfriend troubles Santana. He's a bully. Besides, the photographer nearly had him removed from the set after the verbal smackdown he experienced.

"Have the two of you been dating for a long time?" Santana curiously asks.

Julia, keeping her eyes closed for the other stylist to apply a flashy color, hums in a soft way.

"Two years now." she starts explaining. "We met at a party. His father is my agent."

Santana rolls her eyes: that explains a lot.

"He's a bit … worked up today, it appears." she tries to unravel the mystery by being subtle.

Fran, accentuating Santana's thin lips, suppresses an evil smile. Then she looks into her client's eyes and coughs silently.

Julia has her eyes open again and suddenly acts defensive: "He's a great guy. He just has a lot on his mind right now."

She carefully rubs the part of her arm where her boyfriend just grabbed her. Her colleague is young enough to target the innocent part of love: "But what if he makes you feel sad? Or scared? Shouldn't you feel great being around the person you love?"

"Sometimes I feel a certain way. And then I repress it." the model explains. "Besides, what are you, fifteen?"

Santana frowns all offended: "Sixteen."

Again, Fran coughs, hoping it'll keep them from fighting. For a second, it works. Then Julia's mood miraculously flips and she starts asking about Santana's love life.

"Seeing anyone that makes you happy?"

There's a slight provocative twist in her voice, but Santana decides to ignore it. Her better option is to brag about the special person that, in fact, makes her extremely happy.

"I am. I fell in love with my best friend." she proudly announces.

When all three women, including Julia's stylist, turn their heads her way, the magic of girl talk appears. It's glitters and rainbows and unicorns. Even Santana starts smiling mysteriously.

"Is it that boy that was with you earlier? He looks cute." Julia asks.

But the thought alone almost makes Santana want to throw up: "Are you kidding me? That's my cousin."

She sticks out her tongue.

"Disgusting."

Fran chuckles and orders her to speak up.

"Actually, it's my girl best friend. Brittany. We grew up together. And we fell in love."

On the hunt for a picture, she pulls out her phone. She decides to show them her screensaver. Her photo roll might be a little bit too private. Seeing herself in lingerie on every billboard in the city is one thing. Seeing Brittany on her phone like that is slightly different. All the women gather around the device and utter a girly squeal.

"Oh. She's cute." Fran says.

Julia disagrees: "No, she's gorgeous."

Santana softly smiles and stares at the picture a little bit longer.

"Yes. She is."

Out of nowhere, Rick comes rushing into the trailer. He looks furious. Brown eyes are about to murder someone.

"What's wrong?" Santana asks seconds after seeing his face.

What's with the angry men today? The stylists stop primping the girls and anxiously await the answer.

"We're getting out of here. No way that we're doing this shoot." he decides.

That makes a work-craving Santana flare out of her chair: "What!?"

Even Julia starts questioning his reasons.

"The photographer wants topless pictures. You can't do topless pictures."

Santana lets it sink while heaving a big sigh. All the others around her remain silent.

"Because I'm sixteen."

Rick nods and puts both hands in his pockets. Clearly, he's extremely tensed.

"It's okay, Rick. But, what do we do now? Do we just walk out or … do I sway in the background?"

The look in his eyes suggests their departure. A confused Santana gets up from her chair and gathers her stuff. She apologizes to the lovely ladies and leaves the trailer. Across the little camp that has been build around the set, David's staring at every model that passes him. This is the boy's best day ever. The glow covering his expression is worth a million bucks.

Also worth a million bucks is Santana, but she's wearing a robe over her tiny fairytale outfit to beat the cold of this freezing weather. By the time he sees the dynamic duo approaching him, another man is chasing them. It's the fashion designer who ordered the photoshoot, Alexander Dubrov. He has worked for the biggest companies in the world - a very impressive man, to say the least. The obviously gay man, entering his sixties and brushing his grey hair behind with a ton of gel, catches up to them. Santana was really looking forward to working with him, but this isn't her decision. The law is really clear on this: no nudity under the age of eighteen. Besides, she's not into going topless.

"Wait, Mister Spencer. What is this? Why are you leaving?"

The two of them stop walking and turn around. Alexander Dubrov takes Santana's hand in his and looks at her with a mesmerizing appreciation. She feels flattered.

"Your face is a work of art." he tells her. "Where are you going?"

Rick steps up and points towards the photographer, some foreign big shot that has moved his European ideas to the States.

"That weirdo demands that my model goes topless." he explains, still ragingly angry about the offer.

"So?" Alexander asks, not really understanding what it's about.

"So," Rick explains, "she's only sixteen, man."

The designer suddenly puts a hand in front of his mouth and scoffs.

"I am so sorry, Mr. Spencer. I wasn't aware of her age. Besides, topless is not my idea, at all. Mister Loraine seemingly assumes his artistic liberty applies when working for me. He is very wrong."

Then, he bends over to the goddess that's about to freeze to death.

"Please, Miss Lopez, go and warm up in the trailer. I want you for this campaign. I've reorganized the entire shooting around your agenda. And yes, there's Julia, but only because I need a famous face. You see, this entire marketing plan, it revolves around your appearance. I have pictured it that way. I dreamt it. We will do whatever pleases you. Just don't go."

Santana is stunned. Never has there ever been such an influential person that's begged her to work for her. She looks over to Rick, simply because her agent always figures these kind of things out and after a hesitant nod, she smiles back at the old man. When he walks away to go shout at the photographer and make sure that even more people suck up to Santana, Rick Spencer mysteriously starts smiling.

"What?" Santana wonders.

"That," he says with the most blissful smirk on his face, "is an old man giving the game away. He loves you - oh, how he loves you. This is good."

He grabs Santana by the shoulders and turns her his way to laugh almost hysterically. The joy and relief flowing from his posture is pure gold.

"This is so very good!"

The girl just feels utterly confused. Just a second ago, she was on her way back home. Now, suddenly, she became Alexander Dubrov's muse or something? David joins the pair to ask what's going on.

"This one," Rick proudly announces while patting Santana on the shoulder, "is going to be a superstar."

David frowns his eyes and snorts: "Cool."

But his attention is drawn towards mister Dubrov himself, flamboyantly orchestrating his working bees around the massive rocks and trees the shooting will take place later. A male model, someone his cousin probably knows, gets called over to him.

"Who's the little funny guy?" David ends up asking.

"That's Alexander Dubrov. Big designer."

Santana uses short answers when it comes to David and the fashion industry. The appreciative boy nods.

"So, is this shoot ever going to happen or what?"

Unlike Santana, he hasn't spend that much time on sets yet. The reason why models make so much money is because most of the time, they flirt with being bored to death while waiting for the entire crew to get ready. She starts smiling. Oh, simple, pure David.

* * *

A massively loud bang wakes the defeated Santana up from a deep, deep sleep. Unable to orientate her present whereabouts, she lifts her head from the book she apparently fell asleep on and wipes away the drool sticking to her mouth. Her eyes just won't open, no matter how hard she tries. Time passes and Santana starts to put together the pieces. She came home late last night, from New York. There was a big photoshoot with the funny Kathy McGrath. Poor thing had a massive stomach ache, yet she did an amazing job on set. It was fun, it was nice, except Santana had trouble focussing on the job. By the time she'd be back, a big History test was waiting for her. She spend all her time in between shots reading books and studying hard. Without Brittany by her side, who was at home doing the exact same thing - apart from the modeling of course - it was hard to focus, hard to book results.

"Fuck!" the girl suddenly curses before jumping up in her bed. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

Today's the day. Today is the History day. When she grabs her phone, her biggest fear translates into a sad twist of reality.

"Fuck!" she repeats in a panic. "Oh no, no, no. Not today."

Her skinny body feels sore. This working while going to school thing is getting out of hand. She studied so hard. During the shoot, on the airplane while she was supposed to be asleep and even in the taxi ride on her way home. The stylist in New York interrogated her in the makeup chair, the photographer questioned her knowledge about World War II while taking pictures and Rick had prepared little quizzing cards for the taxi ride.

But now it's three p.m. and History is now officially history. While rubbing her eyes, the disappointed and hasty girl jumps off the bed. That's when she realizes that Brittany's in the room with her, fiercely looking at her. She's mad. Oh, she's more than mad: she's raging.

"What the hell, Santana?" she starts yelling almost immediately after figuring out her girlfriend's been sleeping until now. "This was a major test!"

"I know, I know." Santana apologetically speaks up. "I overslept … I didn't get home before three and I haven't had any sleep on the way over here and -"

But the blonde cuts her off straight away: "This is school. This is more important than some pictures, okay. You can't just fly to New York and have fun and expect the entire world to wait for your return."

Santana feels enormously offended by that assumption. Never has she ever asked for a special treatment. Sure, she misses out on some classes from time to time, but the necessary precautions have been discussed with the principal. There are tasks and extra papers that allow Santana to juggle the school thing in a very flexible way.

"Hey!" she suddenly snaps, barely realizing she's awake yet. "Cut me some slack, okay. I'm waking up over here. I overslept, it happens. I feel shit about it."

She quickly puts on some sportswear and walks over to her cabinet to search her comb. Her eyes are swollen from fatigue. God, this is going to be one of these days again. She's hoping Brittany will drop it. But then a weird, frustrated sigh reverberates behind her and she gets it: Brittany's not going to drop it.

"In all fairness, I think it should be my dad yelling at me for missing school, not you." she tries to joke about it.

But Brittany's just not that humorous when it comes to educational ends. She walks over to her girlfriend and grabs her by the arms to force the both of them to face each other.

"Stop joking about it. This is important."

"So you said." Santana scoffs.

Seriously, sometimes the girl isn't even trying to make things better. It's just that she's feeling exhausted from the long week she has had and this is just another unnecessary piece of drama.

"Santana, I'm just trying to help." Brittany tries in a softer voice, but for some reason, that triggers the fed up part in the Latina.

"Well, I don't need help. Sure, I overslept, but you know what, I have spend hours - countless hours - studying for this ridiculous test. I skipped almost the entire night to memorize the stupid details about World War II and all the freaking dates I won't even remember next week. And then you walk in here and start yelling at me while I look like a disaster, while I feel like one as well, and I don't need that right now. Because all I want to do right now is go to school and explain to Mr. Greer what happened."

Shouting feels so liberating. All the tension from the last couple of weeks finally get their outing. Even if it is by yelling at the girl she loves.

"So back the fuck off and let me get dressed, okay?"

Brittany remains frozen to the spot as Santana forcefully yanks open the first door of her closet. Clothes are flying through the room like they just got their wings, but it's a furious Santana that makes them discover the facts of gravity. When she stumbles over an old CD underneath a pair of jeans, she throws it across the room until the cover breaks into a hundred pieces. It's very far away from the place where her lover is standing.

"God, would you please stop that? Or at least throw something of your own." Brittany sighs while dramatically rolling her eyes.

The dark haired beauty stops turning her belongings upside down and takes a look over her shoulder. Then she recognizes the CD she threw away. It's Brittany's. She quickly walks over to the destroyed item and picks it up so carefully that it could've easily been a bomb she's holding.

"Oh, I'm sorry." she apologizes, like it genuinely fell by accident.

She stares at her shaking hands and sighs completely disappointed by her own behavior.

"I'm really sorry. About everything. I did everything I could to pass this test but - I don't know. I didn't even hear my alarm go off this morning. It's like I …"

Brittany walks over to her and cups her face: "It's alright. I believe you. It's all a bit much and I shouldn't have overreacted like this."

Her arms wrap themselves around Santana's masterpiece of a body and she kisses her girlfriend softly on the cheek.

"Will you come to school with me, to talk to Mr. Greer? I'm too tired to drive." Santana asks, wiping away the existence of the big shouting that happened a second ago.

Brittany nods. Of course she will. A few fingers patiently put away the messy hairs hanging down Santana's face.

"And then we can go shopping. I feel like shopping." the model continues.

That makes Brittany laugh in a confusing way: "You just said you were tired."

"Never too tired to go shopping." is the confident response. "Besides, I have a lot of money right now, babe. I need to spend at least a little bit."

After a few doubtful looks, the blonde one shrugs to mock her words: "Okay, if you put it that way."

* * *

After extensive apologizing, explaining and negotiating to and with Mr. Greer, Santana gets offered a second chance right to the spot. In the presence of her teacher and her girlfriend, she gets to sit down and fill in a copy of the test. While her eyes feel heavy over the lack of sleep, she puts in her best effort. She and her coworkers went over this for hours yesterday. She remembers the answers by associating them with people and poses. She puts together the music that was playing to the quizzing that was taking place at the same time.

Impressed by her determination, Mr. Greer even decides to grade it right after she finishes. A solid B it is and Santana couldn't be happier about it.

"Thank you, Mr. Greer. I promise it won't happen again." she thanks the man, while apologizing at the same time.

He nods in a friendly way and asks her to leave, so he can go home to his family. The girlfriends smile and listen to their teacher.

A half an hour later, they are at the mall, where Santana is strutting around with the largest cup of coffee she's ever held. They stroll from shop to shop and try on way too many clothes while hoping nobody will recognize the shortest girl of the duo. A big pair of sunglasses and an oversized scarf should help do so.

"Don't you want to go to the Armani store? Or Calvin Klein?" Brittany suddenly proposes.

An exited Santana, always acting this way inside the mall, looks up to her and frowns: "Why?"

"Um - because you work for them now. Don't you want more expensive things than this forty dollar jeans now?" Brittany scoffs while pointing at the piece of clothing that her girlfriend is holding.

"I like this pair of jeans. I see a lot of Calvin and Armani and God knows what every single day. And I own a lot of those already - they just randomly give them to me after a shoot. I need to own a pair of jeans I can actually move in or jump into the dirt with." is the surprising response.

The blonde walks around the clothing rack and giggles: "I've known you for eleven years, Santana. I have never seen you jump into the dirt, not even once."

She gets poked and accused of teasing, but soon after, a surprise kiss shuts them both up. Santana can be sweet like this. Simply walking from the first cash register to the next can result into a spontaneous handholding that's heartwarming. Just like she hides love notes in Brittany's lockers from time to time.

While making her way over to the fitting room all alone, Santana gets recognized by two young women. They start whispering to each other, but forget that pointing is a very unsubtle thing to do. Brittany thinks it's funny. Awaiting the curious development of the newly daily routine, the amused blonde leans against a nearby wall, analyzing the duo's interaction. Santana suddenly reappears from the cubicle and waves at her girlfriend, gesturing for an opinion about that skinny jeans flawlessly doing her perfect ass honor. The two curious fans then turn their heads towards Brittany and feel caught, standing so nearby. But she couldn't blame the girls for staring, even if she wanted to.

"I get it, she's, like, too hot, right?" she asks them.

The duo slowly nods, while remaining still for a moment. Brittany just shrugs, completely understanding where they're coming from.

"Yeah, I've been there." she tells herself.

Even after all these years, she finds herself ecstatically mesmerized all the time by this woman. It's very normal for other people to feel the same.

"Don't let her fool you." she alerts them subsequently. "She's raised by a pack of Spanish wolves. Wait until you see her arguing with a girl over some shirt she's interested in. She'll punch her in the nose."

An amused wink makes the girls smile and after that, Brittany turns around to find her lady lover. They fit on the clothes they like, decide which ones to take home and make their way over to the cash register.

"Come here, I'll cover those." Santana offers, while taking Brittany's choice away from her.

But the blonde refuses, clearly feeling displeased: "I can pay for my own clothes, sweetie. I don't need you to buy me stuff."

Her girlfriend picks up on the disapproving attitude right away and starts laughing.

"I just want to buy you something nice, wise-ass. Please, let me. I broke your CD."

"That was a million years old." Brittany smirks. "No, really, I don't want to benefit from your money. I don't want to be that kind of girl."

But the dark haired goddess immediately corrects her: "I started sleeping with you before I was a successful model, when you were the rich one of us. You know, your parents and their movie studio. I'm the gold digger in this relationship."

She yanks the clothes out of Brittany's hands and lays them on the counter. The gross guy in front of her just stares at her with his jaw dropped. Santana asks him what's wrong. Sometimes, she forgets how public her face has become.

"You look like you fell from heaven?" he stutters, while his eyes keep fleeing to her cleavage.

"Really? Oh, that's sweet. You too, though." she answers way too annoyed to be serious.

Seriously, this guy is creepy. His interest in her is just too sexual to be flattering.

"Really?" he hopefully wonders out loud while scanning the articles.

Santana pulls her credit card through the terminal and smirks viciously: "Yes. Looks like it was a big smack."

* * *

**Very quick update, thanks to the Brittana hype going on right now.**

** Hope you guys like it. Let me know :) **


	7. Apart for too long

**Apart for too long**

_2015_

* * *

It's one p.m. when a soaking wet Santana shoots up in her bed. She's panting uncontrollably, with eyes wide open. It takes a while before she realizes where she is. Then, the old memories of her teenage bedroom appear to be real. It's not a dream. Not anymore.

She quickly throws her feet out of the bed and runs some fingers through her voluminous hair. The tiny knots of her hair extensions interrupt the smooth gesture. Not a lot has changed around the place. Not the people that live here, not the way it smells like cinnamon wherever you go, not the boisterous sounds reverberating from room to room. A pack of men and one girl. A pack of Spanish wolves. Just one thing. One person that used to always be here.

Santana just got back last night. It was late when she arrived at the house that's been her home for nearly two decades. It felt strange, too strange to not have been here the last four years.

All of a sudden, she remembers the reason why she woke up in such a panic. There was this dream about Brittany. A nightmare. Sweet, innocent Brittany crying her eyes out the day she found out her girlfriend had left the country. It's the version Santana came up with in her mind. It has the saddest tears ever to be seen and the most heartbreaking sounds of sobbing featured in it. Poor Brittany's out of her mind, desperately searching for her loved one. She doesn't know the truth, she doesn't know anything. Just that Santana has left and she didn't tell her. Her blonde hairs twirl through the wind on her search. And her eyes are green this time, because they normally only turn blue when she's genuinely happy - or when the sunshine lights them up.

Santana shakes the thought and gets up. Some sweatpants and a loose T-shirt turn into the first outfit of the day. Across the room, there's a mirror and from a distance, Santana feels pleased about her appearance. She's looked worst, a lot even, so this morning face doesn't look half as bad as it used to. But then Brittany starts taking control of her mind again. Four years. They've been apart for too long but to her heart and mind that doesn't mean a thing.

On her quest for coffee, she passes all the male residents of the house. Her uncle Aaron turns his ponytail around in an overly enthusiastic way to wish her a good morning when she sees him in the living room. He's watching a rerun of last night's football game.

"How are you today?" he asks with sincere interest.

Basically still not awake, Santana softly smiles.

"Good, uncle Aaron. I'm good." she whispers, while clearing her throat all uninterested.

Then she finds George, her dad, and Eli gathered around the kitchen table. A loud yawn gives her presence away and the two of them ask her the exact same thing.

"How are you today?"

While pouring herself a cup of caffeine, Santana starts frowning. She doesn't even look up to them.

"Good." she repeats after having a sip.

This is starting to bore her. She sits down next to her father and kisses him softly on the cheek. That's when David appears in the room. He waited up until late last night, so see her arrive. They hugged for a solid ten minutes before they went to sleep. This morning, his enthusiasm has tempered. Maybe he's just as tired as she is.

"How are you today?" he asks, following the routine of the other predictable family members.

Santana can't even bring herself to answering that question a third time in less than five minutes and starts snorting.

"So, tell me again why I'm doing this." she demands.

Eli, or Mouse as people still call him, inspects the two old friends. Somewhere along the line, they forgot they were cousins and skipped to the best friend part of their connection. David puts his hand on top of Santana's and smirks: "You're going to be my date for Jules' wedding because she used to be a dear friend of you."

Eli snorts: "And because you don't have dates."

For the first time ever, he gets away with that comment. For over a year now, Mouse's been dating this cute, introvert girl called Jessy. She's a computer nerd too. It's something to brag about.

But the newly returned woman of the family is not into public, small-town events. Something about being a famous supermodel makes it really awkward to stand around normal people. Don't be mistaking: it's Santana that feels strange when it happens. Because as always, everyone ends up staring at her. And that makes her feel uncomfortable and alienated. People either hate her or love her. And therefore, they either gossip about her or make her feel awkward by constantly repeating how amazing she is. It's no fun being the only supermodel. That's why attending fancy parties is easier.

"I should get an epidural before I go through this." she claims.

David rotates his head a bit and senses the doubt that crawls up in her behavior. He knows exactly what's going around in that pretty head.

"She's not coming." he whispers. "I promise. She has a work thing in San Francisco."

Everybody knows exactly who he's talking about, but Santana pretends like it doesn't get to her too much. She's a terrible liar sometimes. Funny, given her past actions.

Her cup is already empty. That's when her dad suggests she should get dressed.

"Rick set you up with that meeting, remember. It'll be good for you." he tells her.

A therapist. She sighs. Like she hasn't visited enough of them over the past couple of years.

"Rick can kiss my ass." her grumpy voice utters.

Much to her father's annoyance, she laughs over her own comment. The temperament in his soft eyes changes and that's when she realizes how serious he is about all of this.

"Rick Spencer has done a lot for this family. For you. You should appreciate the trouble he's going through to help you."

It's enough life wisdom to get Santana up on her sleepy feet. See flees the scene with a refill warming her hands. You see, even a supermodel has to listen to her father from time to time.

Eli, still turning more grey with each day that passes, sighs in a nostalgic way: "Well, it's good to have you guys back, uncle George."

Despite the lingering tension of not enough sleep and a hard couple of years, the happy part of this reunion jumps out.

* * *

"I was randomly looking at her and got slapped with the gay. Seriously, like, every single time. They always said she was the one crazy for me, but in all honesty, every time I even got a little bit scared to lose a second of her attention, I'd come up with ridiculous excuses to make her look back my way. One time I organized a party at my place because she had mentioned a guy asking what she was up to that night and I got terrified she might go over to his place instead of spending the evening with me. Surprisingly, my dad was extremely supportive about a hundred youngsters dancing around his living room that night. And I got the girl."

"You were the one crazy for her, then?" a stranger's voice asks.

Santana smirks and dives into her memories, not afraid to fall so deep: "I was so crazy for her."

She remembers how it was the other way around when they first started dating each other. How Brittany angrily scared that guy away, because Santana couldn't help but flirting with him. That changed rather quickly. Once they were an item, Santana was scared to death that Brittany might dump her for someone else. That fear had its way of exposing itself.

"I even once pushed a guy aside when he tried to kiss her. She thought it was funny. I thought it was amazing I refrained from killing him."

The man, sitting next to her, shouldn't be as amused. He's the therapist Rick arranged for her to meet, and is supposed to remain neutral. But Santana loves to change things up a bit and, much to her delight, he doesn't mind.

"Rick thought you'd have some specific emotions about coming home." he tells her, in a way to explain the meeting. "Brittany seemed to mean a lot to you. She was your girlfriend?"

Santana nods. She was.

"Best friend, girlfriend, lover, … so much more. We never really did have to define ourselves. We skipped overanalyzing the coming out part and proceeded to the natural exploring of whatever it is that we were … or are. The only thing we did have to define was the nature of our relationship. The title of our exclusiveness. For a while we were absolutely certain that our definition of besties was the standard one. I did not doubt for a second that love was involved, but I have to admit that somewhere deep inside, it felt like every best friends connection carried that somewhere within it. I was wrong. So for a little while we kept doing what we had known upon that point: we flirted with the popular boys in our school and when the lights went out, we forgot about all the daylight hours to spent the best there were to experience together. Until she asked me to stop. She asked me to stop joking around with others because of that one simple fact that she was jealous and she wanted me all to herself."

The therapist, mister Grady, removes his glasses and rubs his eyes for a second. The money-making one liner of the profession appears: "And how did that make you feel?"

Santana forgets to laugh over the stereotype and falls back into the deliciously soft pillows of the couch. It's weird how she always bitches about seeing a therapist, yet once she arrives her mind's an open book to them.

"Ecstatic. Hearing her say those words - it was like someone had flipped over the box of puzzle pieces and suddenly, they just happened to fall next to each other in perfect harmony to form this amazing image I had been searching for. You see, this wasn't about realizing I was gay or anything, it was about accepting that I wanted to be in a serious relationship with her and her alone; something that, up until that point, had never surfaced in my mind. Her being jealous, that was an honor. Because it meant she loved me enough to be afraid to lose me."

It's like she's sixteen again and the flow of words bursting from her memories seem so very recently fueled by her love for Brittany. Mr. Grady and his outdated hairstyle get up to wander through the room. He puts both index fingers to his lips and places the thumbs under his chin.

"So the two of you became a couple? How did your parents react to that? And the school?"

Something tells Santana he's actually curious to know. But there's no big coming out story when it comes to them. She'll have to disappoint him.

"Are you kidding me?" she laughs out loud. "After our little debacle of being together for real had been solved, I blew up to my dad about it during an argument. I was like: 'Well, Brittany's my girlfriend now!'. And my dad looked up to me with his soft eyes and said: 'Hasn't she always been?'."

Mister Grady sits on the side of his desk and chuckles: "That's great. The first lesbian patient I ever had without traumatic coming out drama."

That's actually funny. Santana didn't know therapists had a sense of humor.

"Everything just progressed so naturally and gently that it almost seemed like it mattered to no one that she was a girl." she explains. "We had always been together. Kissing each other appeared one of the more appropriate things we did in public to the world around us."

"We live in a pretty understanding world nowadays." Mr. Grady adds.

Santana nods and sits back up, realizing that this session is about to reach the end.

"We seem to do." she agrees while packing up her stuff. "Although one time, a guy came over to me with his ridiculous friends to entertain us with some homophobic comments and - I normally don't resort to kneeing men, since it hurts like hell - but he sure did have it coming."

She gets up and throws an expensive purse over her shoulder. She had refrained herself from kicking off her killer heels to put her feet up half an hour ago.

"Sounds all pretty pink-cloud perfect to me, Santana. So what happened? What changed?" Mr. Grady asks, clearly not ready to drop the subject.

The model checks her watch and notices that the session already ended ten minutes ago. His words hit a nerve she wasn't ready to touch yet. Her eyes sink to the ground, just like her heart, and she sighs the most painful one of all.

"I left."

* * *

The cousins fancy up for the event. Desperately trying not to show off, Santana chose a dress that doesn't seem too expensive. In all fairness: it is, but nobody around here will notice. Only if they see the tag, they'll get an estimated figure in mind. Tragically, nothing warm enough matched - half of her clothes are somewhere else across the world - so she challenges the cold bravely in her bare arms and legs. David was smarter, he's wearing a suit. And he's having a laugh about it.

The wedding takes place in the cute little barn the girls used to hang out when they were teenagers. Right when they walk in, Jules and her husband run over to them in a whiff of enthusiasm. The brunette still looks as smart as always, but has grown more into her beauty over the last couple of years. In theory: the nerd is out.

"Oh, my God. Santana Lopez. I never expected to see you here." the newlywed shrieks.

They hug in a familiar way and for a second, memories drag the model back to a certain area in her past.

"Congratulations. I am so happy for you, Jules. I was in town and of course, I wouldn't miss this for all the money in the world."

That's only a half lie. Friends of Brittany were friends of hers. That's how it went back then. Jules helped her a lot with homework while Santana ran from the one modeling job to the other. She left town before she actually graduated, but her scores were high enough to earn her diploma anyway - even if it was from a distance.

David interrupts the nostalgic moment by holding his hand out to the groom.

"Congratulations, Sam. You two are a great couple."

The guy, clearly impressed by the supermodel's presence, smirks and greets him, after thoroughly questioning the possibility that he might be dreaming.

"This is my cousin, also an old friend of your wife." David explains, while pointing at Santana.

The groom's eyes sparkle, only in an admiring way, when he smiles at her and grabs Jules hand at the same time.

"I didn't know you knew the great Santana Lopez." Sam utters in disbelief.

How great is it that there's a supermodel at his wedding? They need a selfie.

"Knowing someone isn't the same as knowing someone." Santana explains.

Afterwards, she's confused about her own expression. David just stands there and smirks, as is Jules. They both are aware of how weird their old friend can get.

"I don't get the question." Sam admits.

In a way to save the day, she decides to act a lot more smarter than she is: "It's not a question, it's a quote."

"Oh," Sam coughs all relieved, "by someone famous?"

That's when Santana vicious smirk appears. She lives for moments like these. David is already rolling his eyes.

"Well, yes." she explains all gloating. "Me."

Jules starts laughing out loud and pats her on the shoulder. Santana can't help but noticing how gorgeous she looks. She's genuinely content that Jules found her true love.

"You look amazing, Jules. What a beautiful dress you're wearing. Really, it - um … I'm really happy for you."

Suddenly, Santana realizes how much she missed her home. Four years away have gone by so fast, yet each day took a miracle to get through. The glowing bride excitedly shrieks once again and asks them to follow them inside, so they can meet up with some old friends Santana hasn't seen in ages. Kate, for example.

"She's pregnant now." Jules explains.

Santana looks over to David, who nods all excited and hand-gestures a big belly.

"It's a boy." he whispers.

* * *

"I really didn't want to go to this stupid thing. They're all, like, doctors and lawyers."

Santana points out the mere half of their old classmates. Something about this feels like a high school reunion. And Santana is the dumb model without a college degree. An entertaining laughter escapes David's mouth and in a way to draw her attention, he grabs her by the shoulders.

"Santana, you are a supermodel. You strut around on the catwalk at the annual Victoria's Secret fashion show. You're besties with Taylor Swift. How does that not top all the others?"

But that means nothing, standing here. Santana shrugs and holds her palms up to the sky.

"I inherited the cute face and the amazing body of my mother. I have a killer look and a photogenic smile. I didn't go to school for that, someone just randomly came up to me and handed me a contract. Literally. Rick practically threw it at me. I have accomplished nothing on an academic level."

A tempered David snorts the comment away.

"Nobody expects you to become the next George Lopez. This thing you do, you do it amazingly. You have achieved a lot of things, just not on an academic level."

The music starts slowing down and all their old friends start slow dancing in the middle of the floor.

"Like what? I made it to the cover of a few magazines. Everybody tosses them in the trash once they've read them." she tells him, rationalizing her level of fame.

He takes her hand and though she protests for a hot second, they end up slow dancing in the middle of the crowd. It's so beautiful in this place. So cosy and country-ish. Every single man in the room has at least glanced twice at her presence. Some are on the verge of losing an eyeball by popping out of their heads. Then again, there are the girlfriends and wives, who stare at her either in a grudging or admiring way. David swirls her around in his arms and that makes her laugh immediately. After that, he holds her close to his chest and provides her an answer.

"Not everyone tosses them in the trash. In fact, thanks to you, I can never shower in the gym again since the guys put up sixteen - I counted them - posters of you half naked. I am scared to find myself, naked, in a shower, accidentally looking up to you, naked."

He's clearly overcome by the word naked. She slaps him against the chest, which makes him moan in pain.

"Shut up, I never did nudes. Just eenie-meenie-miney bikinis occasionally." she clarifies.

He objects: "Like that's any better. Gym showering pleasure is gone."

His strong arms dip her body and a chuckling expression of joy reverberates.

"I take it back." she concludes, once returned on both feet. "Obviously, I've worked toward this goal all my life."

They twirl around the room rapidly and almost bump into a nearby couple struggling to get the footwork right. Nobody has the dancing game like these cousins.

"So you haven't eaten in years just to tease me?" David mocks her amusingly.

"Don't be ridiculous. I have killer genes, I don't need to diet."

Santana shrugs arrogantly and pictures her cousin entering the showers and getting scared to death once he notices her sexy photos wallpapered around the place. Then an epiphany surprises her and she stops dancing immediately. David looks at her, all confused.

"Hey, wouldn't it be funny if I showed up at your gym out of nowhere and walked straight into that men's locker room?"

But he's totally not into that. In fact, he would pay her a lot of money not to do it.

"Don't. I am begging you. I know your idiot mind thinks this is an amazing idea, but trust the one that did go to college: it's not."

See, again: proof of intelligence tossed into her face. She resumes the slow dancing and growls.

"Yeah. The college card, it is? Played out nice for you, luckily. Poor me."

She's nearly pouting, but only to provoke his personality. When she notices how proud that little fact does make him feel, she can't help but slipping some low blows into the conversation.

"Thank God that you, blogger boy, still live at your dad's house with your brother and uncle, while I, sad, uneducated Santana, travel the world from penthouse to penthouse with my supermodel besties."

The mockery sparks a competitive smile inside the man. He painfully gets the point.

"Couldn't let me have one single strike, could you?" he asks, slightly lifting his left arm to spin his partner underneath it.

She shakes her head after they face each other again. Not a possibility in life.

* * *

"So did you read my last piece on the Mexican trip I took?"

Santana nods, while having a bite from the delicious piece of cake in front of her. They have paused the dancing to feed themselves. Well, to feed Santana, actually.

"Fuck, I'm starved." she states.

To her right, three young women are seated. They're probably related to the groom - she can't recognize them from school. They stare at her, at the way she devours the sweets like it's the first thing she's had in ages.

"What?" she snarls at them. "I eat. I eat a lot."

David shushes her before he starts laughing over her behavior. A curious look of him expresses the desire to hear a further opinion concerning his piece.

"It was great. It was about food and it had great tips, if you ask me. There can't be anything wrong with that, right?" she shrugs.

In all honesty, she knows nothing about making food or talking passionately about recipes. When it tastes good, it tastes good. That's her method of judging meals.

"What? It wasn't interesting? Or funny?" David ask with an offended voice.

She doesn't move a muscle when she shakes her head from left to right. That just baffles him. He throws his hands up in the air and blinks before uttering a repulsive "Are you kidding me?"

But again, she has to repeat her negative gesture: "I am telling you this with a straight face. That's how we, gay people, call it, because you, straight people, have no sense of humor. At all."

Puffing and growling over her comment, he repositions himself on the very uncomfortable chair. Santana just laugh very pleased about herself. He's such a cry baby. Such an easy tease.

Her eyes start roaming the place. People are still dancing, but the music has a faster beat again. Something about the classics makes her want to have a good time tonight. Maybe this was a good idea after all, coming over, visiting the beautiful bride who's having the time of her life with her newly husband on the dance floor. Sadly, this night enforces the stereotype that no husband is capable of dancing properly. Sam's throwing his moves around, almost accidentally hitting a few friends of him from time to time, and Santana guesses that's not how he got the girl.

She faces David again, to gain his attention while pointing it out, but she stumbles on his startled face. God, he can't still be mad over her silly Mexican blog comment. His eyes are focussed on the entrance. They look numb, worried even. Something's wrong.

"What?" Santana giggles uncomfortably, looking over her shoulder.

And then the world stops turning and thunder and lightening strike her simultaneously. This can't be happening.

In front of her, somewhere in the distance, Brittany has appeared. She's holding hands with Christopher. The guy's crazy attractive, but that doesn't interest Santana a bit. The way her fingers are entwined in his do, though. Her jaw drops, while her heart skips a few beats in a row. She has never felt this faint, and there have been awful times in the past. The blonde hasn't noticed her yet and Santana doesn't know if that's a good or a bad thing. She remembers to breath and experiences a painful heartache.

"You asshole. You promised me she wouldn't be here."

David finally shuts his open mouth and stutters some inaudible words before shrugging.

"She wouldn't."

Brittany's supposed to be in San Fransisco. She told him. It's the sole reason Santana wanted to tag along in the first place. Just as Santana assumed this would be the worst part of the night, the worst thing in her life to happen, the gorgeous blonde from the past turns her head around. And it takes her exactly three and a half overdrive-heartbeats before her sight remains frozen. Frozen at Santana.

It takes them two really awkward minutes before one of them takes action. Brittany, Santana, David, they all seem to remain glued to the spot. Until Santana makes a brave move and storms into a nearby room, the place where people have tossed their coats and belongings.

Now she's just standing there, hoping it was obvious enough and that girl from the past will follow her in here. Her heart's pounding - this is the most stressful moment of her entire life.

It feels wrong. Seeing each other again in this place feels wrong. Santana has been dreaming of it, planning it, going over it day after day. Every time, she told herself she'd call her. Every time she didn't. Until a couple of days ago. She finally found the courage, in between a couple of Chardonnays, and picked up the phone. But Brittany didn't answer the call and ever since then, she's been wondering whether it was intentional or not. She does know one thing: the imaginary event of them reuniting after such a long time apart didn't go this way.

Brittany did see her leaving the room. Ninety percent of the men around were staring at her while she escaped into the wardrobe space. Her heart is pounding so very irregularly it scares her. Because she hasn't seen Santana in ages. Maybe this is why she called. Maybe it's because she wanted to tell her she was attending this wedding as well. Jules comes running to her and nearly dives into her embrace.

"Oh, my God! Brittany, you told me you weren't going to be here." she shrieks overly excited.

The blonde gets a grip on herself and fakes a carefree smile.

"I know, I was supposed to go to San Francisco but they cancelled the entire project so … Hi!"

Jules kisses Christopher on the cheek. He's wearing a nice, black tuxedo. What a handsome boyfriend she has.

"You look amazing." Brittany compliments the bride after giving her a tight hug. "I can't believe you got married!"

Of course, she's met the groom a long time ago. Unlike Santana, Brittany remained close friends with Jules and Kate after everything went wrong, four years ago. It wasn't long before graduation. She was about to turn eighteen.

Her eyes wander to the place Santana disappeared to. Memories can picture her precisely, nervously strolling up and down, wondering if Brittany would come running after her. Not so long ago, she would.

"Santana is here." Jules suddenly admits.

Christopher's confused eyes point to his girlfriend's edgy behavior. She nods, of course she has seen her already. If she hadn't, she would be the only one around here. Strangely, she's the only one feeling this brokenhearted about it.

"Who's Santana?" Christopher wonders.

The look in Jules eyes says it all: the guy has no clue what so ever who the big, notorious Santana is.

"Santana Lopez." the bride explains, searching the room for her familiar face.

Of course, she's nowhere to be found. Santana is waiting behind closed doors.

"The supermodel?" Christopher scoffs. "Why would she be here? And how do you know her?"

A slightly nervous blonde laughs completely weirded out to fake innocence. Then it hits her. Santana Lopez is a lot of things, but to her, she's something special: "She's my ex-girlfriend."

The expression on her boyfriend's face is priceless, unlike anything she's ever seen. He's both shocked and insecure. Jules promises to talk later and makes her way over to stop a drunk Sam, clearly starting a feud with one of his older brothers.

Brittany sighs. She never wanted to lie about it to Christopher. It's just that she didn't want to tell him either. Something about keeping the mystery hidden for the new people in her life just seemed so appealing - and easy. But now they're here and she said the thing that shakes up his entire life. Why did she do that? She could've easily polished the specific truth.

"She's your ex-girlfriend?" he demands to know with the most intense voice he's ever used.

It doesn't really feel that way. Unlike some other love interests from her recent past, Santana can't be put in that category.

"She's not an ex-anything." she suddenly realizes too much to gather. "She's still something."

It's easy to assume that her words don't come across as most soothing. Christopher laughs away the nagging confusion and gently pulls her closer by grabbing her by the arm: "That's … not very comforting, babe."

But it suddenly hits Brittany: Santana is in the other room, waiting for her. That girl who dumped her and left her all alone with four years to think about it suddenly showed up tonight. How can she not be there with her, yelling at her, staring at her, spilling her mind. The inner fight not to feel anything thinking about her ex is happening. But at the same time, she is indeed feeling everything.

"Wait here. I need to talk to her." she orders her boyfriend, completely ignoring his last words.

"But …"

She faces him with the fierceness in her eyes that's been missing for long: "Please. I haven't seen her in years."

He might take it as begging, but she's already made up her mind. That's why he shrugs and decides to overcome his high level of insecurity.

"Okay." he whispers, only to bend over in an attempt to kiss her softly on the lips.

But her legs have started moving way before she got his permission, so he misses the target and barely graces her cheeks.

* * *

"Why the hell are you here, Santana?" is the loud welcome the dark goddess receives.

The voice makes her startle and at the same time, it shakes her to the bone. When she turns around, after been waiting for minutes now, she's the closest she's been to Brittany in years. The girl has aged, but it only made her look more beautiful. Her hair is a bit shorter now, and Santana likes it. God, she likes everything about her. The sparkling earrings and the gracious necklace. That elegant, strapless gown covering her pale skin. Its blue matches her eyes.

But the look she's getting isn't really admirable. It's caustic, loathing even. Her eyes are a weird shade of green.

"I got this one coming, didn't I?" Santana loudly asks herself.

But the longer Brittany's looking at her - the gorgeous ghost from her past - the angrier she gets: "You shouldn't be here, Santana. You should be far, far away from this place. From me."

It's almost like making a wish. Because Brittany's been waiting for this moment for years. At first, she couldn't wait to see her ex-girlfriend again - to dive into her arms and kiss and cry until the next morning. But after a while, that feeling disappeared. Anger and confusion became the better part of her. It's rising again, staring into her eyes. Not even that black, little dress can change her mind.

Santana opens her mouth, but it takes a couple of seconds before words follow.

"I wanted to tell you that I'm back, but you didn't pick up your phone and …"

"And you didn't exactly try again, did you?" Brittany interrupts the lame excuse.

This is going to be a hard one, that's clear. The Latina circles around the enraged girl from the past, granting her the opportunity to fully check her out. She's still drop dead gorgeous. Though she spends nearly every free minute with the top models of the world, to her there'll never be one as breathtaking as Brittany.

"I was afraid to talk to you. And I didn't know you'd be here, because if you did, I wouldn't have - I wouldn't be here." she explains with a stuttering, shaking voice.

Looking straight into Brittany's eyes is way too frightening. It might kill her. Or make her heart explode, which would technically kill her as well.

"I owe you both an apology and an explanation for why I left. I want to explain it to you, but not here." Santana silently tells her.

An enraged and emotional Brittany steps up and shakes her head.

"Why not? What is such a mind-blowing secret that the supermodel Santana Lopez can't say in this little room."

The excess of arrogance is disturbing to witness, especially given the fact that Brittany used to be the sweetest person in the world.

"It's complicated." Santana stresses.

But her ex-girlfriend just won't have it. She walks over to the spot where Santana has been standing for the last two minutes and clearly challenges the hell out of her.

"Last chance." she threatens with her heart beating to the pace of her built-up grudge.

Santana wants nothing more than to tell her truth. The detailed and awful truth that made her run away like a coward. But if only Brittany would calm down and listen to her for a second.

"You don't understand." she snaps, finally losing her patience as well.

God, if this goes on for another minute, she's about to throw something breakable across the room. But it looks like Brittany wasn't kidding, she's heading straight for the door. A second later, Santana is left alone, and that really upsets her. Nobody walks out on Santana Lopez.

A perfect idea would be to let it rest, sleep on it and try again in the morning. But Santana is far from perfect, so she chases the cute blonde before considering the more plausible options.

"Brittany!" she hisses, while trying to keep her voice down.

But the ship starts to sink the moment her body enters the room at high speed. Of course, for a split second she forgot: every single one around here knows the superstar that she is. And about sixty percent of them knows about their romantic past. Christopher excluded, as it seems.

The boyfriend is already on his feet by the time Brittany reaches him. The nervous man spent the last few minutes chatting with David, anxiously trying to hide his insecurities.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

She nods, but it lacks persuasion. In the corner of his eye, a worked up and desperate Santana appears.

"Well, I don't want you to talk to her anymore," Christopher informs Brittany while she notice the persistent appearance as well, "because, clearly, there's something going on and I don't like the fact that she's your ex and a girl, so …"

"Shut up and sit down." the blonde commands once the little, heartbreaking sparkle in Santana's eyes makes her change her mind in between heartbeats.

He does as he's told and starts to wonder just how much he has a say in all of this. David remains quiet, telling himself how he does not miss the girlfriend drama from the past. But the snark flowing from Brittany tonight lights up a secret smile on Santana's face. It shouldn't have, because it pisses her opponent off.

"Please, I don't want this to turn into a ... vicious conversation." she apologizes, hoping it'll give her another chance.

"Fine, then just leave." Brittany snaps. "You're good at that, aren't you?"

It's a natural, overpowering reflex to throw the mistakes in her face. Santana decides to sit this one out, even though she doesn't like it. The seriousness of the pain she has cost isn't new to her. Apart from leaving Brittany heartbroken, her own heart shattered as well.

"No, I just need a minute. To explain things." she pleads, with watering eyes. "Please, Brittany."

But the blonde doesn't want to hear it. David sighs and looks over to Christopher, who just sits there like a complete, clueless idiot. Part of him is mad, while another part of him is just overwhelmed to have the one Santana Lopez standing in front of him.

"Why bother, Santana? You are the girl that gets everything, remember?" Brittany rejects by using the words that used to describe the talented, unknown girl from this little town. "You fought really hard to achieve that, left everything - excuse me, everyone behind. Just to get everything."

"Please, hear me out. Lower you voice, this isn't … I don't ... I don't want to tell you like this."

That's when a crushed Santana can't withhold her tears anymore. She walks up to her ex-girlfriend and cups her hands. The sensation of her touch freaks the blonde out. Finally, the dream now feels real. There's no more denying. A few steps take her away from the cause of her most painful memories and she turns around to walk away. It's just all too much, too confusing. The best thing to do is leave, before this whole wedding party crashes and burns. Jules would never forgive her. She would never forgive herself. Everyone's staring already.

But Santana is afraid to watch her leave, maybe forever this time. She realizes that this is her one and only shot. Because after this, Brittany will never grant her another chance.

"I had cancer!" she loudly admits, freezing Brittany right to the spot.

Her eyes fire anxiety. Anxiety because, apart from her family, she has never told anyone on this planet. Anxiety because being sick has destroyed everything in her life and made Brittany hate her with a passion that is indescribable.

Brittany, on the other hand, can't move a muscle. She has her back turned to Santana, yet she can picture the expression on her ex-lover's face. Did she just hear those words? That one possibility she never even considered. The only possibility she never considered. Her heart has stopped beating ever since the word cancer reached her ears. This must be how paralyzation feels like. How a heart attack strikes a body. How a seizure defeats a human being.

* * *

_**They meet again and the truth startles Amy ... **_

_**I hope you liked it. I'm trying to upload as fast as possible.**_

_**One thing, though. I've been having a lot of trouble with the document manager. My entire screen just turns blank the second I hit the 'submit' bottom. Anyone got a tip or the solution? Now I have to copy it to my iPad and enter it through that Safari browser which is REALLY annoying. Thanks a lot in advance and PLEASE - pretty please - let me know what you thought of the chapter ;) **_

_**BTW: how AWESOME was Brittana's wedding? Like, I'm surprised I didn't die after watching that epic kiss and seeing them in their wedding dresses 3**_


	8. Agonizing reality

**Agonizing reality**

_2011_

* * *

"Did Brittany accompany you to the doctor's office?" George asks his daughter the second she walks in that evening.

Santana turns her head the other way and softly hums. Rick Spencer and her father decided it'd be preferable for her to see a doctor. There's been a persistent infection under her arm for a while now - Santana is sure it's from shaving - and the overly energetic girl has been feeling tired for ages. She wakes up in a cold sweat from time to time and hasn't eaten in days. Uncle Aaron is worried too, but he's just a pediatrician. His suggestion was for her to see a colleague of his. A 'big people doctor', as Eli likes to tease him.

Santana, on the other hand, insists it's just stress-related. School, modeling, growing up - it takes a lot of her. She's been doing this for almost three years now. Of course she's tired. Either she's working, flying to three different cities in one week or catching up on her school work or she's skipping every night that's left by having extremely hot sex with Brittany. Seriously, even after three years, they keep going at it like bunnies. And not once has she complained. Above all, Santana goes to extreme measures to keep all of it hidden for her girlfriend. Because who would want a weak girl anyway?

"I haven't told her." Santana shrugs. "She's got a big paper due in order to make it into that amazing school. She'd only worry about me for nothing."

But her father immediately notices that something's wrong. Normally, Santana would ramble about some weird doctor and its unconventional examining methods. Or she'd describe in a detailed way how fans would ask her for autographs just minutes before talking off her clothes in the nearby room. Now she just remains quiet. He knows her well; he raised this perfect angel. She sits down on the big couch in the living room and starts tapping her fingers on top of the armrest. This stupid habit of her has always annoyed George.

"You didn't go, did you?" he growls.

Santana, feeling caught, heaves an annoyed sigh and immediately explodes.

"I'm fine, okay? I didn't go to that stupid doctor's appointment because I am so far behind with school work, so I went to see Jules to help me explain math. You don't need math in front of the camera, but guess what: you need it to graduate."

Her father feels completely unimpressed. It's been a while since he lashed out at her, but this concerns her health and she just ignores the facts that should seriously worry her.

"Santana. Are you kidding me? You can barely keep your eyes open anymore, lately. You don't eat, you're losing weight and the color of your skin is just plain grey."

"Don't go there, Dad. I'm fine." his daughter insists, getting fed up with the constant comments lately. "I am tired, yes. But it'll pass. I'm going to get me some vitamins and once school's out and I can focus on modeling full-time, you'll see that it's just the amount of pressure that's doing this to me. I am young. What could possibly be wrong with me?"

While she says it, deep breaths need to keep her focussed. It hurts the man to see his little girl like this. It's not like he hasn't tried to rationalize what's going on. Obviously, she's lost weight. Not that she had a few pounds to miss anyway. And her skin does look grey-ish, unhealthy even. Rick Spencer noticed the same thing last time he saw her and both men discussed it, out of genuine concern. That's why they insist she goes to see a professional. But Santana won't listen. All she worries about is how she'll combine her next exams with the simultaneous photoshoots.

"Please, daddy, drop it. If it doesn't get any better by the end of this week, I'll go see the guy, I promise. But I need to read this book tonight, before I fall asleep from exhaustion and I can't find the energy to fight with you. Please?"

She is indeed, holding a book in her hands by the time she gets up from the couch. George knows that the personality of his wife got a non-negotiable upgrade when it went from the first generation to the next. There's no way in hell he's going to win this fight without dragging Santana with her hair into that office. So he'll give her another week until that happens.

The door bell rings. Nobody even wonders who it is: it's Brittany. Always Brittany. Seriously, someone should just give her a key. The girl enters the house and goes straight for her girlfriend, kissing her sweetly on the lips. Santana's eyes remain closed for a while, like she's processing the glow of warmth passing through her body. They are so nauseatingly sweet around each other, it still makes George roll his eyes every night.

"Time for dinner!" granddad announces.

His grey hair is combed back nicely and he's wearing a plaid shirt today. Brittany informs him she likes the look, which makes the old fart blush. The rest of the family, Eli, David and uncle Aaron join in as well, and the group sits down at the massive dinner table. Truth is, Brittany secretly likes this big family meetings. She loves the energy in this house, though, right now there's something wrong with the interaction between some members of the pack.

"Are you okay?" she whispers to Santana, carefully trying to figure out where all the tension is coming from.

"Your girlfriend missed a doctor's appointment today. She doesn't seem to care." uncle Aaron explains before the young girl has a chance to talk.

He's been worrying about his niece too. But that's just how the men in this house are. Every time Santana is on her periods, they're about to drive to the Emergency Room. It drives the only female part of this family insane. She once cut her knee during a fall. All five of them drove her to the hospital that night.

"Oh, baby." Brittany pouts compassionately while rubbing Santana's upper arm. "Why didn't you ask me to take you?"

"Because I'm fine." a slightly irritated Santana assures her with a soft smile. "Now eat your veggies."

Brittany mocks her words and taps her invisible hat: "Yes, mom."

* * *

Father and daughter went to see the doctor four days later. A worn out and defeated Santana magically didn't object anymore. She came up to him Friday night when Brittany wasn't around. She was out filming some wedding. Her eyes were swollen, her skin felt dry and her body was weak. Her voice trembled the begging word 'Dad' and once she was ready to let him take her to a professional, he called in some favors through Eli and took her to the hospital. The minute she admitted to feeling sick, her entire perseverance caught up with her. The young woman, eighteen years old, felt close to fainting once all the anger and frustration found a way to exit her body.

George explained the changes in his daughter to the man in the white vest. The doctor asked her questions and she answered them in an honest way. He drew some of her blood and checked the infection under her arm. Then he tested her reflexes and her general response to superficial examination. Hoping he'd say some reassuring words, she kept staring at him while he kept a strict face. This was just an unnatural form of exhaustion, right? But the doctor disagreed. His experience had taught him enough over the years to recognize a sick person when she walked into the room. Even after explaining her tight schedule, he remained certain that something must be wrong. Sadly, even the rationalizing didn't even work on Santana anymore. She had finally reached her breaking point.

* * *

"Honey, why did you miss the first appointment?" George asks, less pressuring than before, while they sit in the waiting room at the doctor's office.

It's been a day since they were here. Santana got some rest and somehow, that made her feel better instantly. Brittany slept at her own place and Santana refrained from telling her girlfriend what was going on over the phone. Besides, the blonde had been filming the wedding all night long. She was probably still asleep right now.

After going through the first tests and exams, Santana is now dropping her guard. She's been too afraid to admit her anxiety.

"Because something inside of me feels off." she admits with a scared, little heart. "I know myself inside out - this body is what pays the bills. It's work. I have to know it, understand it, if I want to succeed in my career. So I know - I am one hundred percent certain - that there's something wrong with me. And if I went to see the doctor, he'd find out. And it'd be real. And I don't want it to be real."

George detects sincere fear behind her eyes and shakes his head to calm her down: "It's going to be fine. I promise."

But all this fighting, all these emotions, they aren't Santana's kind of thing. Saying it out loud suddenly backfires enormously and, right now, her nerves are tingling out of proportions.

"This isn't the fucking swing, okay?" she snaps defensively. "Don't make promises you can't keep, dad."

The lashing surprises her father. He doesn't move a muscle, while trying to figure out what to say, as Santana's name suddenly reverberates through the room. A nice receptionist asks her to walk into the doctor's office. The test results are in. Positive thinking brings Santana to the point where the doctor will stand up in a few minutes and prescribe her some vitamins. She can't bring herself to think about anything else - anything less positive. There's just no time to be sick. Her schedule won't allow it.

The nice man, doctor Brewer, asks her to sit down to discuss the results. She does as she's told. Her nervousness translate in annoyingly tapping the sides of her chair. George quickly orders her to stop. While readjusting the glasses on his nose, the tall man in front of the extraordinary pair flips through some papers. His posture is strict and reserved. In all honesty, nearly every doctor on the planet acts that way.

"Santana, my famous supermodel patient." he starts of with a bragging, gentle smile.

Santana appreciates the cute compliment and smirks subtly. It must be rare for a doctor to see one of his patients in her underwear before she actually appears in his office. But his softened up attitude quickly disappears.

"I'm afraid I have some doubts about your blood values. See, I would really like to see you again this week. Preferably tomorrow, actually."

George immediately picks up on the troubling side of things: "What is wrong, doctor?"

Unlike her father, Santana remains sitting numb in the uncomfortable chair. Her positive mentality didn't help, so it seems. Still, it comes as no surprise that the results are less than admirable. Like she said, she knows her body.

"I'm not sure what we're dealing with, but as we all can see, Santana here isn't feeling very well. There are some anomalies in her blood - things that seem off, and sadly enough, not just slightly. We must examine it further, to be sure. I don't mean to trouble you, certainly not, but I assume we all want to know what's going on with you, don't we, dear?"

By the end of his explanation, the doctor has switched from father to daughter. Santana silently nods, staring at her own fingers. She can't have this right now. It just can't be happening to her. Nothing bad ever happens to her.

"What kind of examinations are we talking about?" George curiously asks.

The man is worried sick. Santana has never been the girl that got sick. She played outside, in the middle of the pouring rain for hours, when she was little and didn't even sneeze once after walking in. The girl has always been incredibly healthy.

"Well, I would like to schedule a biopsy of that little lump under your arm." he starts.

But Santana frowns, completely unaware of the seriousness about all of this: "It's just an ingrown hair. I have them all the time."

The doctor bites his lower lip and shakes his head to express his doubts: "It seems like a lot more than that, Santana. Anyway, we'll take some X-rays while we're at it. Maybe a CT or an MRI. Just to be sure. You do have health insurance, right?"

Santana nods, but consequently shrugs: "My uncle Eli is very determined on getting us proper healthcare. But even then, I've earned quite enough to cover a few tests."

All these tests sound scary, even to a normally unconcerned Santana. The doctor goes back to explaining the test results and the translation of the terminology into simple English words. The girl doesn't listen to most of it, really. Her thoughts are with Brittany, probably asleep right now. In her mind, the perfection of the blonde's face appears, like a bulletproof memory. Even with all that's happening, that girl is the first thing on her mind. How is she going to tell this to her? How can she explain that even a doctor is concerned about her health? Brittany has expressed her worry about Santana's deteriorating well-being a few times in the last couple of weeks, just like the rest of the family. If anyone would notice a difference, there's no doubt Brittany was first. But Santana brushed it off as a cold, or stress, even a vitamin shortage. And Brittany believed her. After that, Santana tried harder to keep it hidden. It worked.

The girls are inseparable, always have been. Despite the troubled double bookings and efforts to keep school and work combined, the blonde has persistently tried to attend as many events as possible, just to keep her girlfriend company during the lonely hours - or to help her study. So yes, Santana has been hiding quite some symptoms and personal feelings concerning the constant tiredness or her sudden, unintended loss of weight. When she only ate half a sandwich, she quickly hid the other part in the garbage bin, under some other trash. And the little lump that bothers dr. Brewer honestly felt innocent. All the girls have them.

But, just like every person on the planet, even a model can get insecure. So when the Latina put all the symptoms in one equation, her concern took the upper hand of her. And it's because she loves Brittany so dearly, she loves the sight of her sleeping face in the darkness and the way she smells when they share a shower, that she's determined to find out what's wrong with her.

Suddenly, Santana's phone starts beeping. It's Rick Spencer, with the details of their next job. She reads the time, the place, the hour. New York. Again. Then she sees the money she'll earn by posing in front of the camera. Her heart skips a beat. Normally, she'd turn around and enthusiastically yank her father's sleeve to fill him in on the details. This time, she doesn't. The two men are still talking with each other, about the process of further examination, to find out what's wrong with Santana.

But she can't seem to listen. Everything around her happens in another dimension, like she's not completely part of it. There are voices and medical terms floating through the air, yet she doesn't understand any of it. She does pick up on the data, though. First test in two days, another one that same afternoon. MRI on Thursday and come back in on Friday.

"I can't come in on Friday." she numbly objects, first time she's saying anything in over ten minutes. "I have to fly to New York. There's a big shoot."

Her calm hand shows them the message on her phone. But both the doctor and George look at her in a worrying way. That's when Dr. Brewer decides to share his less subtle opinion.

"Santana, your blood levels are off the chart. Despite numerous things, you have a high white blood cell count, which is very alarming. In some cases, especially with your symptoms, these things indicate cancer. Understand well that I'm going to set you up with a hematologist. You need to be here on Friday, you understand? You need a biopsy and scans."

The word came out. That one word that changes an entire life. Cancer. Santana's throat compresses and her breathing chokes. The second the C word reverberated, her fingers started trembling and George has noticed. The poor man's overwhelmed with the premature diagnose, but notices just how serious the well-respected man seated in front of him is. That's when he understands: Santana needs to be here on Friday.

A dazzled George sets the time and date. Rescheduling his classes can't take too much of an effort, he's sure. But Santana's mind starts to flip out, though. Everything except the important things flash in front of her eyes. After a couple of seconds, she gets up to grab her back and gesture at her father to leave.

"There's a big test tomorrow. I need to go home now and study." she tells them.

The men both understand that she's shocked. Too shocked to think straight. George gets up on his feet and while his bald head reflects the bright lights in the room, he takes her by the hand.

"All right, kiddo. We'll go home. You go study for that test and in two days, we'll come back. Okay?"

She nods as if it's a simple schedule thing. Like her regular pedicure, moved up by a day. She silently says her goodbyes to the doctor and walks out of the room with the attitude a model's expected to maintain. George shakes dr. Brewer's hand, apologizes for the weirdness taking place and follows his daughter to the car.

By the time they arrive home, it's raining. Santana has stared out of the window of the car for minutes, not saying a word. Her father never tried to change that situation.

"Is there really a test tomorrow?"

Her dreamy eyes point to him and she softly nods. A Science test.

"Brittany's been studying for it since last Monday." she explains.

George knows what that means: Santana, on the other hand, hasn't even touched the book. It would be a surprise if she even found the book tonight.

"Can we not mention this when she gets here? I don't want to upset her. I don't really want to upset anyone." she tells her father.

The man agrees, keeping a few concerns about the plan to himself. Santana should be the one coming out with this news, just like she came out about her sexuality when she felt ready for it.

There's only one thing Brittany should be focussed on right now, and that's school. Any day now, the acceptance letters from the universities around the country should start coming in. Brittany applied to a lot of them, just to assure herself there'll be options. Options she gets to discuss with her girlfriend. Her amazing grades will get her in anywhere, no doubt. And so it's the chance that something in her perfect score results will change after hearing the news, the potential small chance of having cancer, that withholds Santana from telling her the truth right now.

* * *

The science test took place. So did the scans, the biopsy and the further blood analyze. Apart form all of the medical appointments, Santana did a catwalk and had two photoshoots. On Thursday, right after walking out of a painful visit with the hematologist, George dropped her off at Spencer &amp; Riddick's, where Rick organized a meeting to discuss further projects and gigs. He knew what was going on, and much to Santana's pleasure, he ignored it just as much. No one had to know, not until it was diagnosed. Santana remained completely focussed and calm during all of it. She went in, she got through it and she walked out - no matter what meeting or appointment it was. But most of all, she kept it all from Brittany. The blonde's first letter of acceptance came in the mail just days ago. She was ecstatic. And Santana couldn't bring herself to break the lovely girl's heart. Their lives, ever since they found themselves in love with each other, had been going absolutely perfect. They were still as crazy about one another, still as much in love, still as grateful to have found this kind of love. Graduation was coming and so were their dreams and goals. Nothing, not even in their wildest dreams, could've come in the way of it.

David was furious when she asked him not to say anything to her girlfriend. How was he supposed to lie to one of his best friends? He did it anyway, it was up to Santana to come clean about the hard things that were potentially waiting for her in a near future. But in the meanwhile, he acted irritated and touchy around his cousin. Like the big secret he had to keep was too much to ask for. They all worried about the diagnose she would receive shortly and since Brittany was always around, no one had the chance to express their feelings properly. The joyful atmosphere in the house quickly turned cold and agitated. The smart blonde picked up on it, but every time she asked about it, someone had an answer ready for her.

Seven days after the initial meeting, father and daughter returned to the bright white office of doctor Brewer. Accompanying the man was doctor Henry Cullers, the hematologist they briefly met after being requested to conduct a second opinion. It was the same man that told them the bad news. Hodgkin disease. That's what was wrong about her. Lymphoma. Blood cancer. The reason behind all the tiredness, the waking up in cold sweat, the little lump, why she didn't eat as much anymore and lost so much weight. George held his little girl's hand while the doctors explained everything to them. But no matter how many words they used, Santana didn't understand. She didn't understand why all of it was happening … to her. She was only eighteen years old. She was supposed to move on to college after high school, or pursue her modeling career. Chemotherapy wasn't one of the scenarios. Losing all of her hair wasn't one either. The girl didn't talk at all, during the appointment. It was George who asked the important questions. Plan of treatment, options, the best doctor in the country to take care of her - things like that. Just like before, Santana remained in her chair, trying to process the shock. It was real now. So very real and, yet, it felt completely unrelated to her.

* * *

"Doctor Cullers gave me some names of the top specialists for this disease." George explains on their way home.

He realizes that his daughter didn't exactly listen to the conversation that had took place just minutes ago. She had her mind on other things.

"There are a few in America. But he said the foremost expert lives in Europe. The best one in Belgium. You know your mom and I met in Belgium, right?"

The second he said it, his mind brought back memories of this wife. The beautiful Latina woman that was raised in that little country in Europe. Her parents moved there from Columbia to ensure a brighter future. When she met George, on one of his academically driven journeys around the world, her live changed. They fell in love, they married and bought a house in America. And after giving birth to Santana, complications led to her early death.

George's wife is dead. And now his daughter is on the verge of dying too. Shaking hands hold the steering wheel. His little girl notices, but doesn't react on it. Brittany is coming over in an hour. She's determined to tell her the truth. Now that it's written on paper, she can't run around in circles anymore.

The first person they run into in the house is David. When she tells him the diagnose, his eyes widen in fear. A few moments pass, where the rest of the family gathers around to learn the truth as well, and the tension that has been there for days vaporizes immediately. Eli starts crying and runs upstairs to hide in his room, while granddad sits down to wrap himself in silence for twenty minutes straight. But David, much like his father, has a more irrational reaction to all of it. He starts yelling, about how none of it is fair, grabs his jacket and leaves the house. A still very calm Santana lets him. She looks up to her father and uncle, who are discussing the options the doctors just explained, and counts down the minutes for Brittany to arrive.

"How are you feeling about all of this, kiddo?" uncle Aaron ultimately asks.

Santana shrugs and stares at a vase in the distance: "I am ready to jump out of a window. But then again, we're on the ground floor. I'd catch a nasty bruise, at most."

Her way of saying it all doesn't matter now. Whether she's heartbroken or mad, calm or hysterical, it won't change a thing. Fact is that she'll have to start fighting very soon. Better to keep your head straight while it happens.

Santana decides to go and find Eli in his room. The boy is startled, completely in shock after hearing the diagnose. When she opens his bedroom door, she finds him crying. Funny, she hasn't cried yet. Her fingers offer him some tissues he hesitantly accepts.

"It's not contagious." she jokes, but as to be expected, Eli's not too thrilled to laugh over the comment.

Then she sits down next to her cousin and puts her hand on his upper leg. A small talk reassures him how fine it'll all be in the end. It's going to be hard, but great endings require though fights. She even uses gaming metaphors to calm her younger peer down. When he starts asking about Brittany, she shuts up, though. This part hasn't been orchestrated perfectly in her mind yet. Eli notices how her eyes soften up when her name pops up and suddenly sits up straight, facing Santana.

"How do you know someone loves you? No, seriously, like you and Brittany, how do you know she loves you?"

The boy has never been in love before. Sometimes he wonders if that is normal. Santana starts smiling dreamily and shrugs, not sure how to explain that amazing feeling creeping up on her every time she sees that gorgeous best friend of hers.

"I know because she stares at me creepily when I fall asleep. And when I wake up, she's got her head snuggled up against my collarbone and my arm feels numb from her entire body weight. She studies hard because I always gloat with pride whenever she gets an A. After school, when there's this two hours break between us, I know she tries really, really hard - like, it takes all of her - but exactly five minutes after leaving that parking lot and after she has kissing me with such intensity, I get a text about how much she's missing me already. When we go to the restaurant, she holds the door open for me and she helps me get on my coat when we leave. She's not afraid to tell me when I've got spinach stuck between my teeth. In fact, she does it so nobody will make fun of me. And when I am uncertain about something and I stare at it too long, she gets it, puts her hand on top of mine and calms me down, so I can make the right decision."

Eli softly smiles, while rubbing the little bits of grey-ish hair that color his black hair back. Mouse. The little grey mouse. But Santana is still stuck in her memories, so it seems.

"I know she loves me, because the only time I ever feel magical, is when she's around me." she eventually concludes.

"Love is the whole and more than all." Eli suddenly whispers, while closing his brown eyes.

Impressed by the words, Santana starts smiling.

"Are you quoting E.E. Cummings to me?"

"I may be a simple gamer, but I know my books." a proud young man explains.

The doorbell rings. They can hear it reverberating from the ground level. Brittany must be early. Suddenly, Santana starts feeling anxious. Not about her disease, but about confronting the love of her life, her best friend.

"Don't tell her anything before I have, okay?" she asks her cousin, before getting up in a hurry.

He promises. By the time she gets downstairs, Brittany's in the living room, talking to her father. Uncle Aaron is preparing dinner with granddad. Normally, a culinary-driven David was going to cook. But he took off and didn't return.

Santana welcomes her girlfriend with a loving kiss and her heart skips a beat while remembering the way her lips taste. This makes it all better.

"Babe, I have to tell you something." Santana immediately confesses, afraid that waiting too long might scare her too much.

But the seemingly ecstatic Brittany starts jumping up and down with joy. She's holding a letter in her hands and her entire body is shaking with excitement.

"Me first. Please, please, please. I want to tell you something first." Brittany begs her.

George seems slightly amused, clearly hiding his true feelings for as long as needed.

"I got invited!" the blonde suddenly shrieks, completely freaking out.

A confused Santana stares at her and frowns. To what?

"Stanford. I am shortlisted. I'm being invited to do an interview. At Stanford!"

Santana remains perplexed. It's amazing news. A top school, George's old school, one of the best in the country. When she looks over to her father, he forces himself to act exceptionally glad about it. They hug for a while and clearly, Brittany can't keep herself from jumping up and down with joy. Of course he's proud of his daughter-in-law. It should be celebrated. But other things are playing right now. That's why he makes eye contact with his daughter the second Brittany flees to the kitchen to announce the great news to uncle Aaron and granddad. Santana's eyes are numb and filled with doubt. She shakes her head to express her confusion. This cancer thing can't ruin her amazing night, she concludes. It'll have to wait. Just one more day. Just another twenty four hours.

* * *

"Hi." a dreamy Santana whispers when she crosses Brittany at her bathroom.

"Hi."

The cheerful Brittany just can't seem to stop smiling tonight. For hours, she has been talking about the amazing program that Stanford has to offer, about the pros of studying there, how it really puts you once step closer to the famous directors and editors in the movie world. Her eyes have been sparkling every second of every minute. It shut Santana up completely. And the rest of the family.

They all try to keep up a strong act. It works, for now.

"What? What is it?" the blonde suddenly interrupts the shameless staring of her lover.

Santana shakes off the nagging feeling inside of her heart and shrugs playfully: "Nothing ... Just, nice, seeing you coming out of that room with clothes on for once. Adds the mystery."

Her girlfriend wraps her arms around Santana's waist and kisses the softness of her lips. Then Santana excuses herself for a second and walks into the bathroom herself. Once inside, hiding behind a locked door, she can't refrain herself for hyperventilating any longer. Her breathing quickens erratically and only small gasps of air seem to fill her lungs. It takes her more than ten minutes to calm down again. All the possible scenarios of the upcoming events overwhelm her so much. Brittany's bright future prospects. Her own dramatic chemo treatment somewhere soon. They don't match. No matter how good she tries to puzzle the pieces, they simply don't match. She could die. Despite all the efforts and the medical possibilities, there's a chance she won't survive. And that scares her to the bone. So much that it takes her breath away. She isn't ready. She's too young.

"Santana?"

Brittany has put her hand against the other side of the bathroom door while calling her name.

"Are you okay? You've been in there for a while. If you're gonna stay in there any longer, I'm going to start charging you rent." she jokes.

Joy blinds her for potential weirdness. Her voice sounds innocent and bright. This girl is so pure of heart, it upsets the famous model even more.

Santana forces herself to laugh after heaving a big sigh: "You can't. This is my house."

* * *

The household changes in the blink of an eye. Everything revolves around Santana's sickness from the moment things have returned to normal. As normal as it can get, that is. All they ever really talk about is treatment and chemo and doctors. The older part of the family is very keen on the new facility in Belgium where the expert concerning her cancer is located. But it seems really far away to Santana. Too far even. And so other things start to happen. More open conversations about feelings, boxing lessons to vent frustration, talks about the future. But when George decides to alter their nutritional habits, the three youngsters loudly object. He wants better food for his little girl and in a drastic decision, he throws out all the potato chips and candy.

Santana stands by and watches it happen, with her arms crossed. Clearly, she's feeling very disappointed about it.

"I could've eaten that. It was on my bucket list, really." she scoffs while staring at the garbage bin full of deliciousness.

But George frowns and objects: "That's not funny."

His daughter nods and has another melancholic look at her favorites: "I know, it's tragic."

"Santana!" George protests, but she can't be bothered with his anger.

She has been thinking about things lately. Ever since Brittany announced her big news, all Santana's been thinking of was how her girlfriend would be allowed to follow her dreams without being affected by the seriousness of the cancer.

"Can you get her in?" she suddenly asks her father. "Sanford? Can you get her into the program?"

George stops going through the cabinets and turns around to face his daughter.

"It's already done." he tells her. "I talked to Samuel McLear yesterday. I showed them her work a couple of weeks ago. They really liked it. That, plus my recommendation, did the work."

Santana nods silently and lowers her head. The puzzling never adds up.

"Okay. Than that's how it's going to go: Brittany's going to Stanford. And we're going to Belgium." she decides.

George is happy to hear how rationally she approaches her options, but can help wondering how much this will hurt his little girl.

When she walks into the living room a few seconds later, David's seated in the large couch. His face is bruised. The normally calm and responsible guy went out three days in a row and got drunk each and every time. Uncle Aaron roamed from bar to bar, searching for his son. Last night, David threw up for hours. Even worse, the cousins find themselves in the middle of a silent war. The handsome young man is furious about the diagnose and can't seem to wrap his mind around it. The fact that Brittany's being kept in the dark tears him apart as well. So he acts out, gets drunk and ends up in fights.

Santana can't see him like this. She sits down next to him and heaves a big sigh, catching his attention. He drops his phone on the nearby pillow and awkwardly smiles.

"I've been your best friend ever since we were born." he suddenly starts talking in a calm voice. "We've been living together as long as I can remember. I am scared, Santana. So scared and worried that it controls my life."

She looks into his eyes and gets robbed of her breathing capacity for a while. It's the first time they are discussing this. The first time their feelings are being shown.

"Sorry, I've been selfish. I - I didn't mean to." he continues softly, staring at the television in front of him. "You are my best friend and I've been massively blowing you off."

"It's okay." Santana tells him.

Still, they're not face to face. Looking at each other might be too emotional. So it's MTV reruns for now.

"I was upset about it for a while but … You have the cancer card. You win." he smirks, trying to change the atmosphere with a witty comment.

Santana has always appreciated his misplaced sense of humor. She crawls up to him and puts her head on his chest. The older boy wraps his arm around her shoulder.

"Fuck, I don't want to use that card. I prefer to use my credit card." she proclaims, riding along the funny side.

But David's comical note suddenly backfires.

"How can you laugh about this?" he wonders.

After giving it a thought, Santana shrugs: "If I don't, I'll cry."

"And have you cried yet?"

She shakes her head: "No. I have been panicking, though. Lots and lots of panicking."

The eighteen year old boy gently strokes her shoulder and doesn't realize his favorite song is playing on tv right now.

"I am really scared to die." Santana confesses for the first time to anyone. "Like, it pops up randomly in my head all the time and it makes me feel like I'm about to choke … I don't want to die."

The room gets drenched into complete silence. Minutes pass and nobody says a thing. The programs change and background noises of George throwing out the kitchen supplies sometimes reach their ears. Out of nowhere, Santana confesses her big plans about going to Belgium and allowing Brittany to study at the university of her dreams. It almost seems plausible.

"You have to tell her." David suddenly whispers.

She knows immediately he's talking about Brittany.

"I can't. You heard her, she has so many dreams to accomplish. She's about to start that top of the notch education. If I tell her I have cancer, she'll drop that opportunity in a heartbeat and I love that about her. But I would be a terrible person to take her big dream away. She has goals and worked long and hard toward them. This is her big change, maybe her only one. I don't want her to miss out over something she never asked for."

"So, you're just going to leave?" David wonders, completely confused.

Brittany nods determined and that's when her cousin sits up straight to spit his gut.

"The two of you couldn't be more different. She's funny, cute, intelligent, …"

"Oh, thanks a lot." Santana scoffs while interrupting him.

"No, it's just: you're all those things as well, but you're awesome on a different level. You can be rash and hard, you are much more impulsive, less emotional, you're though as hell."

A soft, proud smile colors Santana's face.

"But it doesn't change the fact that the two of you are complementary, the perfect match. Whatever you can't, she can. Whatever you won't, she will. And that's why I think you're making a huge mistake."

Santana sighs and shrugs, almost completely ignoring everything he just said.

"Maybe I am. But this feels right. For the first time in my life I'm not being selfish and it feels right."

He closes his eyes for a second and shakes his head in disbelief.

"This will break her heart." he assures her. "You were talking about getting married last week. You even called that friend of yours in New York to design a ring. You were going to propose and now, you're …"

Brittany dreams about Stanford and editing. Santana only dreams about marrying the girl she loves. It'll have to wait.

"It's for her own good." she explains, trying to justify the decision she has taken. "She just doesn't realize it yet. So she can hate me all she want, as long as she becomes the best fucking editor in the world because of it, that's fine by me."

David gets up on his feet and expresses his sincere doubt about the whole plan by shaking his head.

"Santana, you can't do this to her."

"I know you don't understand, David. And maybe I don't understand it myself. But I have to do this." she replies. "I have to give her the chance to live her life and follow her dreams, while I work on myself. While I fight for mine to keep. And trust me, it'll break my heart too. But it's going to be like I'll spent all this time in a dark room, waiting to get better. And I won't be able to see her, but I know she'll be there with me."

"And what am I supposed to tell her?" he asks her.

"Nothing. This is my thing, not yours. I'll take the blame. And one day, I will fix it. I swear."

Her eyes are tearing up. The realization of leaving her soon hits her harder than she expected. But nonetheless, she's determined that this is the best solution. For both of them.

* * *

The girls share a perfect night, four days later. Brittany doesn't know it yet, but it's their last. Santana has cooked for her, bought her presents and ran a bath for both to lie in for hours. They talk about Stanford and the next photoshoot of Santana that will actually never take place. Rick knows her modeling career will have to wait for a while. He's just as shocked and affected by the devastating news as anyone else in Santana's proximity. So he has called in some favors and arranged a beautiful place for George and Santana to live in Belgium. It's near the hospital in Leuven, where the hematologist, doctor Bart De Weerdt, will oversee her treatment from now on. As soon as she's declared healthy, Spencer &amp; Riddick will be waiting for her.

Among other things, they really laugh a lot that last night. They joke around about fellow students and teachers, or how Santana fell down a chair one time during a photoshoot. Even though she slightly hurt herself, Brittany just couldn't stop laughing. It humors Santana, reliving these memories. Her eyes are focussed on her girlfriend's perfect face for hours, while they are positioned on top of the bed and watching some tv shows.

"I am just in awe over you, babe. I can't love anyone more than I love you. Like, everything, even your bad habits - I love them." Santana suddenly admits, overly emotional.

But Brittany, not realizing that this is the beginning of a goodbye, scoffs and shakes her head: "It might shock you, but there are also things about you that I don't like."

Playfully unaccepting that accusation, Santana starts smiling. You know that smile – the self satisfied, arrogant and kinda of evil smile.

"Yeah, not possible. I am perfect." she explains.

But that comment only verifies Brittany's words: "Hm, exactly right there: your modesty. Such a pain in the ass."

Her girlfriend nods: "You should see me when I get all cocky."

A playful wink lightens up the mood. The girls automatically crawl closer towards each other. There's not an inch left anymore, but it's still too far away.

"You're cute." Brittany whispers, after kissing the cheek of the gorgeous Latina.

"I can't stop it." Santana confesses.

It's because she's looking at her. How can you not look at that blonde goddess and appear to be melting?

They kiss and it's both passionate and fierce. It quickly results in tender lovemaking, where they smooch every inch, adore every movement and taste every taste. It's Santana's way of saying goodbye. She pins the love of her life against the wallpapered wall across her bed and makes her come three times in a row. An overwhelmed Brittany can't understand where all of this is aggressive expression of love is coming from, but she lets Santana do to her body whatever she wants to do. Then, the duo ends up on the bed again. They are in each other's arms and spontaneously start giggling. Santana puts her lips on top of Brittany's for the millionth time this evening and they start kissing again - it's like they can't get enough. After an hour, Brittany tells her she's feeling tired and she dozes off to sleep. That's when her girlfriend starts to feel anxious. These are their last few moments. A bag is packed, it's in the car right now. George is waiting for his daughter to come downstairs and leave.

* * *

She flees like a thief in the night a few hours later. She cries, pressing one hand tightly against her mouth, hoping the agonizing and heartbreaking sounds coming from the deepest part of her won't wake up the gorgeousness that she calls her girlfriend. For the last time she stares at the hair that smells like vanilla and the face that reminds her of a fairy. For the last time she kisses the goddess on her forehead and tastes the sweetness of her skin. For the last time she whispers she loves her. And that she's sorry. So very sorry.

* * *

**So, this was a tough one to write. I'll let you in on some personal information. Lately, a lot of my friends and family have been diagnozed with cancer. Some are very, very young - some are a bit older. It's a terrible thing to witness. And every single one of them reacts in a different way. I thought this would make a great subject for a Brittana fanfic. Because unlike show writers, I hate to use the cheating or falling out of love card when it comes to these two. And I like drama - a lot of drama ... ;)**

**So when I started writing this story, I felt like I could point out that cancer is a thing that could happen to anyone. Even a supermodel, even our Santana Lopez.**

**I hope you guys like it. There's a lot more to come.**

**Tomorrow, I'm checking into the hospital myself for a surgery. I've been in a terrible car accident four months ago and nearly died. Right after I survived, I started writing this fic (I've been in a bed and a wheelchair for about a month so I had a lot of time). Now I need a final surgery to fix my leg for once and for all. I am happy to be alive. I am happy to write and to have people liking this fic. That's why I think it's necessary to show others that bad things are always just around the corner - it doesn't mean you can't enjoy life anymore. In fact: it makes you love it even more.**

**Have fun &amp; feel free to review ;) AND SPREAD THE WORD ;)**

**x**


	9. Apart until now

**Apart until now**

_2015_

* * *

The most massive headache is starting to develop itself inside of Brittany's head. She ran into the bathroom the minute Santana uttered the earth-shattering reason why she left. It doesn't make any sense to her. Her memory, her mind, they all made up versions. Versions that had nothing to do with any of this. They pictured Santana as a fucked up little brat, ready to dive head-first into the world of modeling at the cost of leaving everything and everyone behind. They came up with the image of that Latina hotness, ditching her loved ones and her education to chase the big piles of money that were luring her in. And maybe there was even one version … one that had kept her up for nights, that made her wish from the bottom of her heart she was wrong about: that Santana simply didn't love her enough to stay. That it had all been a teenage romance to her and Brittany's feelings were so much stronger than hers.

But the real version of Santana follows her into the tiled bathroom and shuts the door behind them. She still can't believe how great Brittany looks. Her memories kept a perfect image of her ex-girlfriend, but sometimes she wondered if they enhanced all the perfection to be found. They didn't. Brittany is simply too good to be true.

"Are you okay?" she calmly asks, trying to act as if nothing ever came in between them.

Brittany hears her voice and chokes for a second. She still can't believe they are reunited here, tonight. After four years, she had given up hope.

"I hated you." she softly confessed, with her hands on each side of the sink and face turned down to the crane. "I hated you for four years and that made sense. I was entitled to. But now you tell me you had cancer and …"

Saying the word cuts through her like a knife. It doesn't really affect Santana anymore. It's the most favorite word people around her have used during the past couple of years. She even knows how it sounds in Dutch now. Kanker.

Santana loved this person with everything there was to give. In fact, she had no idea how much she loved her until she left and found herself lonely in a country far away. And now that she's looking at her again, the feeling is even bigger.

"That's okay. I've been an asshole." she tells the blonde, giving her the right to hate on a cancer patient.

But Brittany disagrees. Her heads starts moving from left to right, but in a slow way. This is too much information. And it only leads up to one thing: "You were sick."

Her ex-girlfriend walks over to the other sink, on Brittany's left side, and leans against it all nonchalantly.

"People with cancer can be assholes too. Believe me, we're not very happy during chemo. Almost dying does not increase the kindness factor. You get bitter and … asshole-ish." she admits, going back a few steps in her treatment program.

"But …"

As soon as she starts talking, Brittany shuts up again. What is she supposed to say? How does Santana expects her to react? Christopher must be worried sick, observing this whole charade. Oh, God, look at her, having a mental breakdown over her ex in the presence of her current lover.

"I thought you didn't love me anymore." Brittany confesses with a fragile voice while she turns to Santana.

Hearing her say those words cuts through the middle of the skinny model.

"Because if you loved me, you wouldn't leave me." Brittany explains. "It's the worst feeling I've ever experienced."

It really is. The thought that maybe Santana had fallen out of love with her nearly broke her heart. It made her cry for days - perhaps even weeks. She gets approached in a confident way and two warm hands cup each shoulder. The moment they touch, both girls feel exhilarated. It's been years since they were this close to each other again. It still feels magical.

"I hurt you because maybe that way, you would miss me less." Santana attempts to explain. "Look, I know that nothing about my past actions proves it … but I swear that everything I ever did - it was to protect you. Because I love you so much that I don't ever want to see you hurt. And if that means hurting myself, than that's okay."

The words always sound a lot better in her head, she realizes. Even Brittany shakes her head, completely misreading the idea of opening up her heart.

"That's a fucking cliché."

Santana smirks and subsequently shrugs to display innocence: "It's a cliché for a reason."

The seconds pass and with them, Brittany's resistance starts to deteriorate. Something about Santana makes her weak, soft to the bone. It's in her eyes and the way she moves while standing still. Seems like things really haven't changed since they parted.

"It's just been so hard, without you. I was left alone and confused. You don't know how it was. How hard it is to lose you." the blonde confesses.

She can hit herself over the head for exposing her feelings like this. But she can't stop.

"What?" Santana scoffs, in the most gentle way. "You think this was easy for me? You think that I just walked away and never looked back? I freaking cried every single night. For you, not for this stupid cancer. The cancer shit was easy compared to leaving you behind. But I had both to deal with - plus the guilt of lying to you. I did this for you, because of you. And I know you don't get it. I know you don't understand, but …"

They are repeating words by now. Truth is that there's no perfect explanation. It's just fucked up, really. Because the way Santana felt when she left, isn't the way she's feeling right now anymore. And the girl Brittany was, probable disappeared as well.

"Never mind." Santana eventually sighs. "I get that you're mad at me. I'm mad at me. And that's okay, because you have made this amazing life for yourself, you gained a lot in your career and your personal life. So I can live with you being mad at me."

She's coming to peace with herself, so it seems. This is what she told herself when she left - this kept her going during her darkest hours. So Brittany could grow and work hard on herself. It's good to see she actually accomplished her goals. Even if they don't involve her.

But all the compassion and reasoning that have been going on inside of Santana's head misfires.

"You think I cared more about my potential career than I did about you?" Brittany growls.

With hands defensively up in the air, a cautious Latina steps back. She knows exactly how this will develop.

"No, no, no. That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying that … I've been faithfully yours for eighteen years. I took care of you, protected you. I was yours and yours alone. I loved you more than I loved myself. And I wanted everything for you. I wanted you to go to Stanford and have the time of your life. And for one panicking second, I bailed out. And it all leads to this. To you being amazing at everything that you do. And me being healthy again. So please, forgive me."

Frustration is building up inside of their skinny bodies. It reminds them of the old days, when fighting was one of their favorite activities - apart from having sex all night long.

To soften the mood a little bit, Brittany picks up one of the soap containers next to the paper towels and hands it over to Santana. She gets stared at, with confused eyes.

"What?" Santana asks.

Brittany gestures at the wall: "Throw it."

"What?" the dark haired beauty protests, like she would never even consider it.

She may resent her, she may be having vicious feelings concerning their past, she may think little of her right now, but she still knows how to unravel the complicated and intriguing personality of the person in front of her. Brittany crosses both arms and patiently awaits the moment her former best friend will crack under the pressure of frustration. It takes her twenty seconds before the container aggressively whistles through the air. The girls start to chuckle as soon as the soap starts splashing around freely.

* * *

In the next room, where the careless dancing still takes place, David and Christopher remain seated next to each other, rather awkwardly. There's no way in life David can comment on this situation without making the bad feeling Christopher's experiencing even worse. He knows those two ladies by heart. He's probably their biggest fan.

"So … how's work?" he tries awkwardly, hoping it'll take his mind off the ex-girlfriends drama for a second.

But it's clear that his plan doesn't work.

"Her ex is a girl?" Christopher utters, mainly asking himself.

The tone carrying the question sounds disapproving. David turns his head and frowns, feeling a little bit offended. She's also his cousin. Nobody gets to say bad things about his cousin.

"Yes, so?"

The curly blond guy can't seem to wrap his head around the secret past of his girlfriend. How could she have dated a supermodel and not feel like sharing?

"She never told me that this Santana person was a girl." he clarifies.

Still, David can't shake the thought of his table partner being a bit homophobic. Maybe it's just the intimidation speaking. The fact that his cousin is also a Victoria's Secret Angel might scare some guys off.

"Should she have told you that specifically, then?" he asks. "Like: 'Hey, I once dated Santana, she's a girl by the way'. It's not like she was gonna say: 'And then there was Kurt, who is a boy'."

"That's not the same thing." Christopher rejects.

But a mocking smile lights up the air: "To me it is."

It's the truth. Apart from his cousin being a member of the gay community, David has never really thought about the nature of relationships. To him, love is love. You don't get to chose the one you fall in love with. It just happens. And no matter if it's a boy of a girl, it'll fuck you over anyway. He takes the glass of wine in front of him and has a big draught. God, this was not the night he was hoping for.

* * *

"So, you're with someone?" a calmed down Santana asks in a lower voice.

Clearly, she's referring to Christopher. He's way too cute to not feel intimidated.

"Maybe." Brittany shrugs mysteriously.

She's not sure whether she wants to keep Santana in the dark out of anger or rejection. A lot is going on in her mind right now.

Santana sees the humor in all of it, though: "You're a terrible liar."

Honesty has always been one of the things she loves about her. But as the past have proven, she herself might have lied a little bit too much to laugh the comments away with Brittany.

"And you are a good one." is the smashing, cold comeback.

Slowly, Brittany starts to realize that hiding anything about her current life isn't the best option. Santana always knew everything about her. This is nothing to be ashamed of.

"Yes, he's my boyfriend." she then admits.

It almost feels like a confession. A secret that just came out and scares her.

"Oh." the gorgeous model utters, while running some fingers through her straightened hair.

Brittany picks up on the silent confusion, even though it's too quiet to top the music coming from the other room.

"What?"

Santana turns her head to the door and sighs: "I didn't know for sure. So … oh."

The lack of previous conversations between them shows. Everything she says, whether it's heartfelt of a cold lie, Brittany questions. It's a trust issue that drives her crazy. Did she mean anything by it? Was she expressing her dismissal about her finding someone new? A man?

"What? Was I supposed to give notice? I'm sorry, I didn't get that memo on your way out of town four years ago."

Santana realizes just how tensed her ex-girlfriend is feeling. It's pretty obvious how little she has a saying in all of this. Because it is the blunt truth that Brittany did in fact have the right to search for someone new. And even though it breaks her heart, the entire planned outcome of all of this drama was for her to be happy, right? If she is, that should be okay for her.

"No, just 'Oh, how weird is it that I still get jealous the second you talk about someone else after I haven't seen you for all this time'-oh." she admits, staring straight into Brittany's gorgeous green-ish eyes.

It's winter. It's cold and dark outside. They only turn clear blue in the summer or when there's really bright light in the room.

"Oh." Brittany softens up in a surprising twist.

She didn't expect this reaction. She didn't expect to feel so moved by her honesty. An exhausted Santana decides to call it a night. She's had enough of the fighting and the drama. All she really wants right now is to have a glass of wine in her old room and fall asleep on top of the soft sheets that remind her of her teenage years. Her body makes its elegant way to the exit, but for a second it stops and turns around again. It startles her how this young woman can amaze her each and every time. How looking at her makes time slow down. How all the background noises disappear.

"You look amazing, Brittany. Like, really, really pretty. And despite everything, I am so glad I saw you again."

* * *

It all flashes in front of her eyes in seconds. When the blonde finally allows her memories to intrude reality again, she relives the feelings she once had. The great moments of utter teenage romance. They acted like notorious old lovers, walking hand in hand along the river side while feeding the ducks or took a ride on the Ferris wheel to make out at the highest point. They'd talk for hours. Whether it was about photoshoots, high school events or movies they had seen, the girls couldn't seem to get tired of hearing each other's voice. And surprisingly, even after nearly three years of sleeping together, the nights filled with sensual, exhausting and passionate sex just kept coming. It was perfect - everything about them as a couple was perfect. The reason why she suppressed that knowledge for so long is because it reminds her how much she misses it. How she's going to miss that from now on. How the scent, the taste, the touch of Santana Lopez is going to be the missing part of her until the day she dies.

So it doesn't take long before she starts chasing the ghost from her past. When she enters the main room, Christopher looks over to her, hoping it'll all be over now. He saw Santana leaving. This is the ideal moment for his girlfriend to come over again, and resume this intentional fun night out. But Brittany will let him down, because she flees to the nearby exit door, while looking at him with a stoic face. And David could've predicted this an hour ago.

When she finally finds Santana again, heading straight to a nearby parked car, she calls her name to gain her attention. Santana's eyebrows scrunch to expose her confusion and she eventually stops walking. The girl is a supermodel for a reason. They way her body swirls across the concrete, how her hair gets driven by the wind and her long, gorgeous legs never seem to end - it fastens Brittany's heartbeat.

"Go back inside, it's freezing. You'll get cold." Santana calmly predicts with a careless familiarity.

But Brittany shakes her head in a hypnotized reaction and approaches her ex lover until they are just a couple feet apart. She can't stop staring.

"I don't care." she mumbles.

The heartbreak when she left still leaves its marks. Because every moment they spend together brings along the aching feeling of missing her. Of fearing they'll never meet each other again.

In an attempt to gather her thoughts, Brittany holds one hand up.

"Did you come back, assuming I'd run straight back to you? To ask me to drop everything - my boyfriend, my apartment, everything I've worked hard for - and just run back to you and forget about everything that happened?"

The sudden semi accusation leaves Santana standing frozen. The coldness is starting to encourage goosebumps to take over her skin. She's way underdressed to be out here in the cold.

"I - I don't know what I expected, but …"

Suddenly, she doesn't even know what to say anymore. What is she expecting? Are there even actual expectations? Of course she didn't assume things would just go back to normal in a heartbeat. At most, she dreamt about having a decent conversation. Or a fight, like just now. In no dimension, even a fictional one, Brittany and her would just lock eyes from across the room and run into each other's arms. She wasn't even supposed to be here tonight. Santana decides to let it go and walk away. This has been one hell of a night. They can talk about it in the morning.

"Ask me!" Brittany suddenly demands as she sees her one true mystery resume her walk to the car. "Ask me to choose you and I'll do it."

Santana turns her head back at Brittany and amusingly scoffs, clearly overwhelmed by the words she just heard. She must be kidding, right?

"In a heartbeat." Brittany emphasizes, gasping for air as she realizes that her words catch up with her feelings before she does mentally.

Her fingers are shaking, her voice is trembling. Everything about this is making her nervous. She's begging and nothing about it feels wrong. Because if she doesn't, she'll regret it for the rest of her life.

"Fuck. Are you serious?" Santana mumbles completely taken by surprise.

Brittany nods and takes another step to get her closer to her past.

"Yes. Ask me!" she say convincingly.

But unlike before, Santana seems to have grown up in ways she never expected.

"Shouldn't we talk about this first." she suggests with a half smile.

"It's simple." Brittany clarifies. "I'm with Christopher and … we're good. We are so easily and perfectly good. We share an apartment, we came up with a five-year plan, we're talking about getting married and having children."

This isn't the logical explanation Santana was expecting. How did begging her to ask her back result into describing the perfect relationship with her boyfriend?

In a nervous response, she squeezes one eye shut: "Why exactly are you telling me this?"

"Because no matter how happy he makes me, he's not you …" is the unrestrained reply.

That blunt. That simple. It completely throws the careful Santana off. It makes her heart race.

"What?"

Brittany shrugs and almost laughs about it: "He's not you and that's just not enough."

Her heart is screaming all the kinds of yes Santana can come up with. It orders her to walk over to that gorgeous blonde and kiss her for the first time in what seems like forever. But then there's her mind, and it's way too compassionate and logical to ignore.

"But, it's the first time you've seen me in years. You can't just give up on your life and pick me over him." she utters full of disbelief.

"Sure I can." Brittany tells her.

She walks over to her ex girlfriend and cups her hands. The touch makes Santana's respiration even heavier. The cold has turned her gasps of air into little clouds. This can't be an actual reality?

"Brittany, we have to talk about this."

But the girl clearly disagrees. She gets closer and closer to her target, mind set on what she wants - what she needs.

"Look, we could go at this all night and fight. We could scream and yell and explain why we think the other one is wrong. We'll be worn out in the morning and glad we finally said what's been on our mind for years now. You'll probably throw a vase across the room or something - the usual."

A slightly embarrassed Santana smirks, but then agrees: "Probably."

The hands that were on hers just now have moved on up to her bare upper arms. She feels the warmth they radiate. The things they make her feel.

"Or we could just skip that entire part and I could kiss you, right now. Because I haven't done that in four years and I'm dying to kiss you."

The pouty lips of the Latina have always been irresistible to her. They just taste so fucking good.

"You know," Santana admits, while rolling her eyes playfully, "talking as a way of communicating is so overrated."

The final sign of giving in. Brittany's assurance that it's a go. Her slim fingers caress the sides of Santana's cheeks and she dives in to kiss her ex girlfriend on the lips. When she does, the earth cracks open and the ground slides from under their feet. At least, it feels that way. Even in their wildest dreams, this kiss couldn't have tasted better. It couldn't have felt better. Because it is what it is: the fucking best.

The girls forget about the world around them and kiss until their dazzled minds start to recollect themselves. When they part, Brittany pulls her in for a last, tiny, sweet peck again. It's been too long to not take advantage of this situation.

"So you got jealous over my boyfriend right away, huh?" she teasingly whispers through Santana's mouth.

There's no way denying it.

"Yes. I was about to kick the living shit out of him." Santana fesses up.

The jealousy has always made her look even sexier to Brittany. Because there was always just one thing that scared the supermodel to death: the possibility that Brittany might like someone more than her.

"So you haven't changed a bit then?"

Santana confirms that with an evil smile: "Not really."

This feeling. This togetherness. The familiarity of holding each other and not even realizing it, because it's the natural behavior for their bodies to connect. It's like the past four years never happened. Like that stupid mistake of not being honest and trying to be the bigger man was made for nothing.

But out of nowhere, Brittany surprisingly pushes the love of her life back again to simultaneously slap her straight across the face. Not too hard, just enough to make it hurt.

"What the fuck?" a flabbergasted Santana utters, while cupping her cheek.

"That's for leaving me!" Brittany explains, suddenly feeling really relieved.

Santana starts laughing. Something about this strangely amuses her.

"Okay … A reminder: you don't hit people with cancer." she jokes to share her level of understanding about the sudden impulse that drove Brittany to do this.

"Well, I just did." is the confident response. "Because sometimes, people with cancer are assholes."

Even though it's just a comical throwback, she can't help but feeling bad about it. Because every time she says the word, reality hits her. Her girlfriend had cancer. She has been through hell and back fighting this monster and Brittany wasn't there. While every fiber inside of her fought to keep hating Santana, every fiber inside of Santana was fighting to survive.

"I'm freezing." she admits in a way to change the atmosphere.

"Told you so."

The fact that her predicament came through creates a lot of joy inside of Santana's little heart. Evil eyes stare at her.

"It's your fault."

But the amused model just shrugs and bends over to mock Brittany: "Add it to the list."

* * *

There it is, the bed that has always felt like home to her. The bed that is her home. It's not the house, not the room or the people in it. It's this piece of furniture and the moments she had in it with Brittany. The tiny dress she was wearing is lying on the floor now. Nothing but these comfortable pajamas can make her feel more relaxed right now. Just a cute, pink top and some navy blue stretching pants. Her carefully groomed hair is now bundled up in a cute dot. It's almost grown back completely. And thank God for hair extensions of course.

Next to the nightstand, three big trolleys are still unpacked. Somehow, Santana refused to give herself hope about staying too long at this place. Because staying here would mean running into Brittany and that was an option she hadn't prepared herself for. Then again, that reunion came by unannounced, like a slap in the face. Literally.

When the girls left the party, Santana promised to call her kissing partner in the morning. She was tired and slightly jet lagged, but most of all, overly impressed by the course of events. Apart from that, Brittany decided she needed to talk to Christopher, about what was going on. She needed to break up with him. And tragically, part of her was looking forward to that.

After David walks by the door to wish her a good night's sleep, she turns to the beeping of her phone. When she checks the screen, Brittany's name appears.

'I'm in front of your house. Come and get me.'

The text makes her smile the goofiest smile. How stalkerishly cute is this?

She runs downstairs, opens the front door for Brittany and finds herself staring at her too long. She guides her to her bedroom really quietly and gets distracted by memorizing the way Brittany walks. She finally gets both of them back to the exact same spot where they shared amazing nights and forgets the correct counting order from one to ten without actually minding it.

"What did your loser boyfriend say?" she wants to know.

Sucked right back into reality, Brittany puffs and raises her shoulders to express her doubt about the whole dramatic and tearful breakup.

"First, he said he just wanted me to be happy. And I said that was the whole point: I wasn't."

Santana's mouth expresses the mental castration Christopher must have gone through when he heard her say those words.

"Didn't take it lightly, I assume."

Brittany shakes her head.

"He said that if I truly felt that way about him - to just leave his ass for my old ex girlfriend, he was deeply disappointed in me. He got really mad, really quickly."

She squints her eyes a bit to relive the awkward fight. For once, he was angry. Rightfully angry.

The curiosity takes control of Santana and she puts her arms around Brittany's waist: "What did you reply?"

The face of the blonde magically turns stoic, like she's retrieving historic memories.

"The good news: that the surviving chance of that is about ninety nine percent, so ... he'll live."

A mocking sound leaves Santana's mouth: "You did not say that to him."

There's not a chance in life the good, pure and simple Brittany would pulverize a decent human being like that. Especially after dumping his ass over a girl.

"I didn't." the blushing blonde admits. "But how awesome would it be if I actually did?"

Unabashed over her fantasy comment, she slaps the sides of Santana's bare arms. It feels so good being here again, after all this time. Just like this clear proof of perfection in front of her, she hasn't entered this room in years either.

"Happy now?" she asks after being starstruck for a while.

Santana shakes her head to express her unsatisfied emotions.

"No. The thing is. You have been standing in my bedroom for over three minutes now. You are currently talking about the man you've been sleeping with for God knows how long. You are still wearing your coat. And on top of all that, I'm not being kissed or sexually attacked and that's really upsetting me."

Before the last words leave her mouth, she gets pinned against the wall by Brittany. The aggressiveness lurking underneath the heavy kissing completely dazzles the Latina. She undresses her ex-girlfriend/recently reconnected girlfriend in a matter of seconds and stops and stares for a solid heartbeat when she finally witnesses the divine state of Brittany's body. God, she's hot. Their crotches press against one another and despite the persistence of the making out part, Santana gets disposed of her own outfit rather quickly. Their blood is boiling. Boiling with desire and love. The fact that none of this feels rushed or ignorant surprises them both. While hands are instinctively caressing the skin they've missed for four years, Brittany kisses her partner so hard that it makes it really difficult for the girls to breathe.

"I want to taste you." Brittany whispers in Santana's mouth.

Her hands have been massaging the perfect, round breasts of the Latina lady, but start to slide down towards the area where Santana is feeling completely hot and soaked already. The fact that Brittany uttered those words with so much underlying desire doesn't help. Shudders run up and down her spine.

"So bad." Brittany stresses, while lowering her head to kiss her all the way down her naked body.

She forgot just how much of a sexual being she can be. Suddenly nervous, Santana forces herself to relax and after closing her eyes, she holds onto the wall behind her. Brittany's tongue reaches her already thrusting from excitement core and that makes her moan rather loud. Suddenly, she realizes just how quiet she's supposed to be. There are five men asleep in this house tonight. If any one of them would walk in on them, that'd be worse than receiving a death sentence.

A very motivated Brittany goes down on her for another minute or two. Seriously, though, a man doesn't taste as good as a woman. There is nothing - not a single flavor in the world - that tastes as great as a woman. But Santana is tired of not feeling Brittany's tongue in her mouth anymore. That, and she's about to lose all the strength she has left in her legs to keep standing. Her hands pull the blonde back up, so she can kiss her again. Then, under incessant guidance of their orchestrated movements, they lie down on the bed. It's easier for them to admire each other's body this way. To use gravity to their advantage. For their bodies to emerge like a puzzle.

The fingers of the model slip down to Brittany's naked core. It radiates heat. It feels wet and sticky at the same time. Her fingertip touches the part where Brittany is the most sensible. Of course she didn't forget about it. Brittany shrieks impatiently and clenches a fist, with Santana's hair between her fingers. Her jaw drops the second she experiences the familiar feeling and she can't stop panting uncontrollably. This is what Santana does to her. And she can do it again.

* * *

Exhausted and overly satisfied on all sorts of levels, the girls are covered by the sheets and staring at the ceiling. It's been quiet in the room for a while now. The sexual tension has faded off and playing around with Santana's slim fingers has made Brittany think about things.

"Tell me about the cancer. How did it … Did it hurt?" she asks.

Somehow, that part terrifies her. She can't ever imagine seeing Santana without her gorgeous dark hair or too pale to look healthy. Yet, she knows exactly what cancer does to you. How it deteriorates a person's body and mind. How the chemo aggressively attacks everything inside of you, even the good things.

"I was pretty miserable for a long time." Santana admits. "All the things they talk about: throwing up, losing your hair, feeling like you're gonna die - they all happen. Some days you just want to quit or escape from the hospital. And it's never ending, so it seems. The second you start feeling better, they inject you with another thing and you're back to square one."

Brittany takes a firmer grip around the tiny fingers.

"That's awful." she whispers.

Luckily, Santana is the girl to rationalize. She's always reminded about how people close to her made great efforts to make her feel better again. Like her dad, when he took her to Bruges and Antwerp when she felt a bit healthier again. And David and Mouse. They lied for her for years.

"When I got through all of the treatment and I was in remission, Rick organized some little photoshoots to roll into it again. I still needed weekly check ups and blood work, but it was great to keep my mind off of the cancer. He was so careful with me and with everything press related. While I was out, he made the journalists and fashion people believe that I started studying abroad and decided to put my modeling career on hold. Then he got me back out there like it was the easiest thing in the world. In no time, the biggest companies started knocking on my door again, begging for me to join a campaign or run a catwalk. I wore a wig and stuff, but nobody noticed. And the good news is, I'm still gorgeous bald."

She smirks over her own stupid joke and that makes Brittany relax a little. The way their bodies are entwined set their heartbeats on the same rhythm. Hours have passed and they still aren't ready to fall asleep. Santana is drawn back into the part of her life that was both exhausting as relieving. How she missed Brittany through all of her dark days. How she saw her face and hers alone when the chemo kept her puking for days. How she prayed that if Brittany would've witnessed all of it, she'd still think of her as pretty without all of her hair.

"Is it completely gone?" Brittany suddenly needs to know.

Santana can't give her the answer she desires.

"You never know. That's why the check ups are for. That's why I stayed in Belgium so long."

The questionable truth leaves them silent for a while.

"And what about babies? Can you still have babies?"

Santana shrugs: "I'm not sure. We froze some eggs before treatment started. How it all should work out in the end hasn't really been discussed yet. It wasn't relevant yet. I just needed the option."

Brittany squeezes the flesh of her lover's waist and heaves a deep sigh.

"But I'm back now. Back with you. Back at work. You know, even though I wasn't ready to come back home, apart from the medical reasons, working has really helped me get back on my feet after all of it. And every day, I had the time of my life posing and meeting all these famous people again." she resumes to recall her time recovering. "But then I went to bed, alone, and all there was left was to cry over you. Because no matter how enriching the day had been and how lucky I should've felt about being alive, not lying next to you in bed was the worst feeling in the world. For a while, I thought it was normal. I thought that missing you was okay. But these feelings just wouldn't go away. The tears never stopped. I tried really hard to tell myself that it was over, since I realized how badly I screwed things up. It just didn't feel that way. I don't think things can ever really be over between you and me. Because though I was alone, you were with me all along. And it felt like I couldn't breathe, but I had to - for you. You can be very far away from me, Brittany, but that doesn't mean we aren't together."

Brittany's heart is exploding from the romantic overload. At the same time, she knows exactly what Santana is talking about. Because it resembles a lot of her own experiences when it comes to missing that person you truly love.

"Look at you, all mature." she mocks Santana to soften up the mood.

Her thumb is playfully poking each and every finger of Santana's right hand. Her head is cuddled up against the cleavage she very recently sexually assaulted. This feels good. Familiar. Crazy familiar.

"I know, right?" Santana scoffs while overthinking her own speech. "It's disgusting."

Their bodies feel so good when they are glued to each other. After a silent minute, the blonde looks up and draws her girl in even closer. She cups Santana's cheek and stares so deep into the Latina's eyes, she gets lost somewhere on the road to forever. She can't believe they've been apart until now.

"Promise you'll never leave me again." she demands.

Santana repositions her upper body and dreamingly smiles.

"I promise."

* * *

_**So, updating time ;) **_

_**Hope you guys liked it. **_

_**Some might not like their careless reunion, but to me it's simple: Santana and Brittany are two people that will always draw towards each other. Fighting about it seems stupid, because I can truly imagine them standing across each other and being all: 'Okay, this makes no sense, we should be together!'. And the other one will be, like: 'Yeah, you're right'. And so the begging part of Brittany, it felt completely in character for her. Because all these girls ever really want is to be together. And they don't waste an opportunity. **_

_**Let me know what you thought of it ;)** _


	10. About the girl

**About the girl**

_2015_

* * *

As the girls make their way across town, some people recognize the toned down version of a supermodel. A few brave fans ask for autographs or selfies. Though it seems a bit uneasy and annoying after a while, Santana happily gives in to every request. These fans pay the bills, she resonates. They are the reason why the fashion industry thinks so much of her. Brittany just thinks it's weird. Like, how awkward must it be when every single person in this world knows your name and the way you look in your underwear? Back when they were dating, Santana's star was starting to rise, but it hadn't reached the level she's at now. Two months ago, she _owned_ the Victoria Secret's fashion show - she had been told so anyway. Millions of men and women watched and drooled over her confident, super sexy routine. Brittany didn't. The bitterness and resentful feelings from before kept her from giving in to the curiosity. Now that they have established this sort of being back together thing, she can't wait to stream the show online.

"Look at him." Brittany whispers, while passing a shy and secretive acting man.

Santana turns her head and smiles in a friendly way. The forty year old seems a little too hold back to say hi.

"Bet he has his bedroom wallpapered with posters of you." Brittany explains, as she carefully inspects the excited look in his eyes.

But the other woman pokes her softly and orders her to stop talking.

"Would anything be wrong with that? Am I not the most perfect thing to decorate your room with?" she playfully brags.

Brittany shrugs: "I wouldn't like seeing you taped to my wall vertically. I'd rather have you lying next to me horizontally."

The comment makes the Latina blush surprisingly. They both stop talking for a while, until Santana's phone starts beeping and she starts a conversation with Rick Spencer. When the blonde turns around to check out a pair of shoes in a window display, her fingers surprisingly get entwined between her lover's. Unaware if Santana is actually out and proud as a public figure, her eyes stare at the gesture with confusion. Someone might take a picture of it. The gorgeous beauty, still talking to Rick, quickly curls the sides of lips up to smile and throws in a wink. Anyone can know about her and Brittany. In fact, she has had trouble to not throw an after-sex selfie on Instagram late last night.

"Are there no paparazzi around you all the time?" Brittany asks, seriously questioning the lack of privacy a supermodel usually experiences once the phone call ends.

"Sometimes. When I'm in New York, London or Los Angeles it can get pretty ugly. But out here, nobody from the industry knows where I am. Not yet, at least."

She throws her eyes up to a nearby group of teenage girls, who anxiously snap pictures of her passing through. They'll be uploaded in less than a minute. That's okay, it's part of the job.

That's why she's always dressed up to minimal expectation when she leaves the house. Right now, it's nothing more than some worn out jeans, long black boots and a leather jacket, but the combination is stylish enough to come across as something well-considered. Her hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail and the make up she's wearing is nearly invisible, but it's there. And it's there for a reason. Bad pictures popping up on the internet have always scared her. Especially when she just went in remission. Nobody knew she was sick, so nothing could spark rumors. Her skin was in a bad condition when she left the hospital. When she went back to work, the stylists and makeup magicians luckily made it seem like she was having the time of her life.

"I can't believe we're walking here. Together. Like nothing has happened." Brittany suddenly utters, after magically being absorbed into the handholding with the woman she has loved for many years.

Santana looks up to her and heaves a worrying sigh.

"But a lot of things did happen." she checks into reality.

Suddenly, Brittany's pulled back into her confusion and doubt from last night. This is happening so fast, so unrestricted and careless. They are ignoring a big part of their history - the _bad_ part. The part that made them both question how much or how less they were meant for each other.

"I still don't understand why you never even asked me - why you didn't even try to talk with me? Why did you end things back then when we could've …" suddenly a loud swallow interrupts her little rant. "Do you understand what you did? How you broke me? You brought out the very best of me, and then you took all of it away when you left. I couldn't breathe for months."

There'll probably be a lot more apologetic moments from now on. Santana realizes that Brittany could indeed have been the perfect person to hold her hand and be there for her while she was sick and recovering. But that doesn't change the fact that it was for a reason. A reason that appeared good enough back then.

"Because I really wanted you to go to Stanford. You should've seen your face when you told me you got that interview. I didn't want to deprive your special opportunity. And also because I couldn't be your famous supermodel hero anymore. I was sick and about to lose ten pounds and all my hair and maybe even my mind. I couldn't be the hero that swept you off your feet by appearing on every billboard in town or romanticize you with tons of flowers and secret messages. I couldn't take you out for dinner every night and fly you across the country to join me on one of my photoshoots. And that was exactly how you knew me. How you fell in love with me."

Brittany scoffs her words and stops them both from walking along. She can't believe this.

"No, I fell in love with the simple, pure you, Santana. You seem to forget that I knew you before you became all of _this_. You were the most ordinary girl when we first met. Remember that you once assured me that you were the gold digger in this relationship? And yes, you turned out to be this great extraordinary person. But not because of the modeling act. Sure, you seduced me with your gorgeous body, your romantic love notes from around the world, the high ranked defensiveness whenever someone bullied me and your tireless attempts to impress me with presents. But don't be confused: I fell in love with the personality behind those actions, not the supermodel. I fell in love with the soft eyes that nobody saw whenever you looked at me, with the voice so warm when you spoke to me, with the touch of your fingers that gave me goosebumps and your stupid jokes when you got nervous. I never needed a hero. I needed you."

Her eyes are tearing up. She had thought about all those reasons a million times before.

"And after all the things you've told me about your time in Belgium, I … I just wish you would've needed me too." she explains.

Santana lowers her head and nods. Her plan has totally backfired somewhere along the line. She's been stupid. Too stupid to realize that part of her selfless act was keeping Brittany away from the baddest part of herself. The hurting and the emotional breakdowns her father had to deal with. She was scared that, without her hair and glamorous life, Brittany might not like her that much anymore.

"It's not fair." Santana suddenly realizes.

Her reasons will never be good enough to Brittany. Because if it would've been the other way around, she'd be mad too. Brittany links their arms and pulls her along with her again. She puts her head on Santana's shoulder and sighs.

"It isn't …"

They walk across town like they used to do when they were sixteen. Four years have changed little to nothing in this little place. The same old hairdresser - Antonio - invites every passenger in for a glass of red wine. Haircut is optional. A bit further down the road, the little grocery store of Mrs. Warden is taken over by her daughter, Elise. And finally, before reaching Santana's black rental SUV, the girls are greeted by Mr. Marren, the proud owner of the best bakery in a six hundred feet radius. Everyone around here knows Santana very well. She grew up around here, just a hasty few minutes outside of the big, crowded city area. She ran up and down these streets ever since she was a little girl. Bumped the side of Mr. Marren's car with her bike one time. But that little girl had achieved a lot in life. She left town and became a superstar. Someone everyone talked about all the time. It was flattering to see her old friends and neighbors stare at her with a certain amount of pride in their eyes. How they could tell their friends that they once went to school with Santana Lopez.

"My thesis was about you, you know?" Brittany disturbs the long silence. "I didn't use specific footage of you. I hired an actress. She was hot."

Santana unlocks the doors and they both get in. The model's tiny body seems way too small for this big car, but surprisingly, she masters it quite confidently.

"What was the story?" she curiously asks.

Brittany buckles up and starts smiling into the distance. It seems like a lifetime ago when she filed in her final project before graduating Stanford. Looking back, she knew so little then. In just two years, she has gained a priceless level of experience by working. She loves it.

"The tragic, typical one. Girl falls in love with boy, boy becomes famous, boy leaves girl to chase her dreams, girl stays behind brokenhearted." she explains. "But with lesbians. And a really hot sex scene."

Santana softly smiles, while keeping focussed on the road. Clearly, that movie took place when Brittany was still very angry at her.

"Critics really loved it. My big break." Brittany recalls nostalgically.

She lays her head against the window and discovers the irony in the story.

"Congratulations." Santana tells her, genuinely meaning it.

The car turns left. Only two more blocks and they are home.

"I spent so much time being mad at you. And all along, you had cancer."

The softness and sincere sorrow that lingers behind Brittany's words makes Santana look over at her. She thinks about it for a while and suddenly remembers their previous conversation.

"Yeah, like we said: it's not fair."

A cheerful song starts playing on the radio. It's one of Santana's favorites, so she starts wiggling her shoulders rather enthusiastically. It's great to be home for a while. A nice change from the raging fast world of the fashion industry. And definitely anything but the strange foreign experience in Europe. Though, to be honest, she thought it was great over there. It contained a certain promise of privacy. Few people knew who she was. Few people could bother her. She could breathe - feel relieved about the anonymity. And even if she had to leave her comfortable life behind, she was too enchanted to look back for a while.

"So how was that, going to college?" she picks up on the thesis thing.

"University." Brittany corrects her with an amused cocky voice. "It was hard. Intense. It was only an hour drive away from San Francisco, you know. But I never went. Didn't have the time."

"That's … sad." Santana comments.

Picturing herself sitting in a dorm room, doing nothing but study and work on projects scares the living crap out of her. But Brittany disagrees. Stanford was everything she had ever hoped for. And the hard work kept her too occupied to think about Santana all the time.

"It's not. I'm an impressive professional now." she mocks herself. "And I'm sick and tired of San Francisco after all the time I spent there working since then."

The slightly overly serious comment makes Santana laugh. In the meantime, she keeps dancing to the fast rhythm of the song.

"So, you're a professional editor now?" she innocently asks, while holding back a smile.

"Yeah. Kind of. Assistant." Brittany narrows down the confidence.

"What did you work for?"

Santana is just asking because it's the right thing to do. Truth is: she can sum up all the productions Brittany has taken part in. Chronologically. She kept track. Of course she did.

"A lot of the known sitcoms. Some movies. And now there's this new show, _Interception_I'm really interested in."

Santana's friends circle includes some actors and television people as well. The show rings a bell, because most of the time, hanging out with her peers means discussing upcoming projects.

"Is that the one with the girl that can't decide between two boys?"

The lack of detail in her description stirs up a comical laugh.

"That's about every single television show on this planet." Brittany tells her. "But yes, it's about that. Only: astronauts!"

Santana parks her car on the driveway.

"_Oeh_!" she enthusiastically utters, but then frowns. "Could've been better with lesbians."

* * *

The good old Lopez house is crowded tonight. Every single member is present, all way too curious to witness the resurrection of the famous Santana/Brittany saga. They all knew this was going to happen someday. Because Santana and Brittany are the poster children of opposites that attract.

The entire family gathers around the old dining room table. They eat pasta with meatballs and act like they unintentionally went back in time. George and Brittany hugged for a decent ten minutes when they saw each other again this morning at breakfast. Now they can't stop talking, mostly about the Stanford experience. In the meantime, uncle Aaron and Eli catch up with their long lost cousin. Apart from David, Santana tried to stay as distant as possible from them while she went through the hardest part of her life. She didn't mean to upset anyone. George did the talking over the phone. They all visited once, after her first round of chemo. After that, she promised to return home soon. George kept that promise. But it took Santana nearly four years to follow his example. Out of shame, out of stubbornness, out of fear that Brittany was hating her.

After cleaning up and loading in the dishwasher, they drop into the massive couches in front of the television. Except for granddad. He claims to have a hot date. No one feels the urge to ask.

Brittany's so close to Santana that she might as well sit on top of her. The men realize that little has changed. Even though they fought a silent war during the last years, their teenage behavior remained the same. They still have their little AA-meetings. Brittany's fingers are tapping the growling belly of her girlfriend. Too. Much. Food. Asking for desert was the final punch.

"So," Eli suddenly pops the predicted question, "the two of you are back together?"

They don't even look up. The girls just remain sprayed on top of each other and nod while staring. That's how simple it is.

"And the two of you can't just be friends?" he questions the rapidity of their reunion.

Santana shakes her head faintly, like it's too obvious or just too exhausting: "No, we can't."

"Why not?"

Even George and Aaron have opened their ears to listen to the conversation by now. Surprisingly, David has no opinion about any of this. He's just glad he and his iPad can focus on the blog full time again instead of playing a personal shrink for both girls.

"I've seen her naked way too many times, often underneath me as well, to _just_ be friends with her." Santana jokes bluntly.

George covers his ears and subsequently shakes his head in disapproval.

"Again with this?" he mumbles to himself.

But the very happy mood of Brittany kicks in too. She pokes Santana's chest and objects.

"Oh, come on. Don't be ridiculous ... You were never on top."

She winks but quickly decides that enough of this is enough. First of all, she forgot to whisper. Secondly, deep down, she realizes her throwback was a lie. Santana _is_ always on top. And it's a magical thing to experience.

Uncle Aaron laughs away the conversation he never wanted to hear about his little niece and clears his throat: "So you're just gonna pick things up where you left them?"

Santana understands where all of this is coming from. She has thought about it as well. But the truth is that they've already lost too much time, by being apart. And this feels amazing. This feels like it's meant to be. There are no doubts, no restraints. Just questions about the last four years. They can fill in the blanks about those along the way.

"What do you expect us to do? Become strangers again, introduce ourselves to one another, shake hands and make awkward jokes to break the ice?" Santana suggests.

Brittany picks up on the romantic do-over of their first romance: "Oh, and then we'll go on a first date, be all nervous while getting dressed, feel all flustered after our first kiss and pick a favorite song together."

"Sounds kind of romantic." Santana admits.

Just imagine the possibilities. The funny revival of their first steps. They'd have a blast.

"New memories." Brittany dreamily whispers, before instantly turning completely confused. "We'll have to erase the old."

Suddenly, neither of them finds the romantic and cute part in all of it anymore. Because the old are the best. They are the reason why they ended back up here in the end.

"Okay, never mind. I like my old ones way too much." Santana decides.

The men in their company aren't even listening to the babbling sounds of the girls. Just like before, they turn into background noises. Voices that are always there.

The girls start playing, teasingly poking each other every now and then. They always forget how their behavior might intrude the peaceful plans of their co-residents. Then again, they will never really care about it. After getting some drinks in the kitchen, Brittany starts chasing Santana around the living room to grab her. George and Aaron look at them over their newspapers and sigh, while Eli and David hide their mischievous smiles. This used to drive the old men crazy. It's the only reason why the young ladies are doing it in the first place.

It takes Brittany two minutes to tackle Santana into the couch and land on top of her. They both shriek with laughter.

"No, stop it." George demands, really looking forward to finishing the last page of his paper.

But the girls can't be bothered. They remain in an ecstatic mood and goof around like they're ten years old. Few seconds later, they start kissing. First it's innocent and caring, but the smooch quickly turns into an expression of love. Oh, the years they need to catch up on. Again, the youngest men of the company remain amusingly quiet, while the older brothers put both hands in front of their eyes and growl with frustration.

"No, stop it." they repeat themselves.

George rubs his bald head and tries to remind himself of the time when all he wished for was his daughter to be in her soulmate's arms again. The longer this charade is happening, the more the memory fades out.

"Go to your room, Santana. Just get up and go to your room. You guys are terrible." he orders.

Santana sits up straight and questions the level of parenthood going on when your father orders you to take your girlfriend up to your room. But she decides to keep the suspicion unsaid and quickly drags Brittany along with her.

* * *

The San Francisco project was cancelled, and luckily, so were Brittany's initial plans for the next couple of weeks. She was keen on participating in the _Interception_ show, but just like everything in showbiz land, it was a selective game of know and grow. Nothing had been discussed with the actual producers yet, so Brittany's participation remained uncertain. Therefor, Santana asked her to join her to a new photoshoot in New York. In fact, she nearly begged her.

The model has an apartment over there, in downtown Manhattan. Of course Brittany was willing to check the place out.

As the girls leave the JFK airport, a bunch of photographers gather around Santana's entourage: Brittany, Rick Spencer and a personal assistant called Dianne. The blinding flashes get defied by really dark sunglasses. The bunch of ruthless professionals keep asking her _about the girl_. But it's been a long flight, all that Santana really wants right now is go home with Brittany and show her around the place a little bit. Her apartment is amazing, you see. It's centered just below the penthouse, on the twenty third floor, and has a view to die for. You can actually see the Empire State Building in the distance. Designer Alexander Dubrov personally helped her design the open-spaced interior. It has shinny, white furniture and flashy, contrasting paintings on the wall. You could call it pretty modernly decorated, exactly how Santana loves it.

After faintly smiling at the cameras and making their slightly interrupted way over to the exit, Brittany starts to get anxious about the level of claustrophobia these paparazzi can generate. Her slim fingers search for Santana's and once they entwine, the model looks over to her and reassuringly smiles. Just a couple more minutes and they'll be in the cab. Perhaps they'll find one or two sneaky bastards standing outside her apartment building, but once inside, it'll be safe.

Rick and the assistant will be spending the night in a nearby hotel. They have business to acquire to, contracts to discuss and meeting to schedule. The live of Santana probably is a lot easier - simply taking the modeling gig aside - compared to what Rick has to go through all the time. She agrees to do a shooting, shows up in time - or late, as the past has shown - and gives it her best shot. Apart from a limited number of meetings, she mostly attends the big parties and festive gatherings Rick orders her to show up to. He's her manager, the little voice inside her head that keeps imprinting all the important stuff concerning her job. He's the oracle whenever she's doubting herself or the ideas inside her head.

On their way up the elevator, Santana suddenly starts to wonder out loud what Brittany attracted in Christopher. Completely thrown off by the sudden curiosity of her girlfriend, the blonde remains quiet for a second.

"He has a cute face. It's the first thing I noticed about him." she recalls

"But he looks kinda Asian, don't you think?" Santana utters, mostly talking to herself.

The elevator light shifts to level thirteen and Brittany starts laughing: "That's because he is kind of Asian. What are you, kind of racist?"

Her girlfriend is fast to correct herself. It just an observation, that's all.

"Was he any good?"

Brittany scrunches her eyebrows, she's not sure what Santana is referring to right now: "What do you mean?"

"I mean …" Santana rolls her eyes and aims them at Brittany's crotch.

The blonde puts one hand in front of her mouth and gasps for air. She cannot be serious.

"No, really. I want to know. I mean, I wouldn't want you to have horrible sex for four years." she scoffs in a way to mock the entire situation.

But Brittany quickly realizes she has nothing to be ashamed of.

"It's wasn't four years. And I know what this is about. So no, it wasn't just boys. But if you really want to know, Christopher knew exactly what he had to do."

She winks, knowing this will piss off the Latina to lengths she'll never admit, and for a second, Santana remains startled. Really? Not even soothing the pain a little bit? Her head turns towards the elevator door and the light switches to level sixteen. She licks the outer left part of her mouth and puffs away the frustration.

"You're really going to tell me you didn't have sex for four years? I can't really imagine, when I recall our history of humping each other like bunnies." Brittany continues, loudly questioning Santana's innocence when it comes to remaining faithfully hers. It doesn't take long before she cracks.

"In Belgium, I started a little fling with a nurse. She was cute. Looked a lot like you, though. After that, back on the road and all … Let's just say it's a pretty gay world out there."

She coughs to make it sound less orgy-_ish_ than it initially came out. Brittany has no doubt about the level of sexual fluidity in the modeling industry. Most of them are already half naked by the time they first meet. Then again, it's not like you'll ever meet a person you won't be attracted to in those circles. Everyone is drop dead gorgeous. Perfection at its finest. They live in a fantasy world, in which they attend celebrity parties and hang out at the most delicious restaurants. Going home with someone might be the most casual thing about their lives.

"It's not like I actually had a relationship with anyone or something. It was more or less to pass time." Santana smiles in order to cover her own sexual encounters. "Conclusion of this story is that you haven't exactly been waiting around for me, huh?"

The conversation has turned into a full-blown teasing contest. They are out to make each other blush and cranky. And after just admitting she's been sleeping with about every model on this earth, Santana is still determined to make the other one look bad in this story. The elevator pings. Twenty third floor. Suddenly, Brittany sighs while rolling her trolley out of the small cubicle: even this hallway is prettier than her room. She could live here, with all these stylish ornaments and amazing paintings covering the walls.

When they enter Santana's apartment, Santana's flicks the light on and while hoping to turn this teasing into a more physical game, she runs towards the open kitchen situated behind the living room area to grab a bottle of wine. But out of nowhere, a girl storms out of the bedroom to jump straight into her arms. Brittany, who was casually roaming the place to soak in Santana's natural habitat, jumps back an inch and observes her girlfriend, holding a barely naked twenty year old something in her arms. The brunette has put her lips on Santana's mouth and that is just so wrong to her on so many levels. It takes her a full second to realize what's going on. The model, on the other hand, can't be fast enough to push the girl away from her, acting like she's contagious or something.

Brittany crosses her arms, leans into the wall and smirks: "You were saying?"

Startled by the surprise attack, Santana turns her head back and forth. The humorous part of their previous conversation gets lost in the utter confusion that's happening.

"What are you doing here?" she asks the beautiful brunette who's obviously too excited to see her.

It's Emma Brown, a talented, rising actress. Brittany now recognizes her from some smaller movie roles. She didn't realize how gay the girl was. Santana must have a clue by now, though.

In an anxious attempt to cover up the lack of clothing her ex fling is exposing, the Latina grabs the beige blanket that's on top of the nearby couch and wraps it around her.

"You told me you were coming back today." Emma carelessly explains, while finally realizing there's another person in the room.

Santana wipes her lips clean to get rid of her taste. This is dramatic, so utterly dramatic. If it were anyone else, she'd think it's funny.

"When?" she asks, completely unable to recall it.

Emma shrugs and proudly smiles: "Last month."

Seconds pass filled with nothing but awkwardness and painful looks thrown around the place. There is no way in hell even the notorious Miss Lopez can come up with an escape route here.

"Who's that?" Emma asks, pointing at an overly amused Brittany.

Somehow, the blonde's really enjoying this little high school drama. Santana forgot to cancel out her last fling, how fucked up is that?

Santana rubs her forehead with one finger and squeezes one eye shut.

"She's … my girlfriend."

That obviously comes as a surprise to Julia: "I didn't know you had a girlfriend."

Brittany laughs to herself and watches the awkward encounter between Santana and Emma. She should've taped this.

"Neither did I." the Latina admits. "It's complicated."

Except it's not. They are back together. The end. She quickly glances at Brittany to seek some sort of participation, but the blonde throws her hands up in the air.

"Oh, no, I'm enjoying this way too much."

She sits down on the back of the couch to watch the show. All that's missing is some popcorn.

"It's not funny." Santana protests.

Brittany disagrees: "Oh, it's _pretty_ funny."

The next couple of moments unfold an entertaining spectacle. Santana goes through great lengths to assure Emma of her best intentions from a few months ago, but she's reconciled with her long lost love again. Going around, sneaking up on each other half naked in each other's apartment is no longer possible. The girl seems disappointed, put aside even. She utters a soft 'oh' and disappears in the room to gather her stuff. Two minutes and a confused apology later, she's gone. It takes exactly that long before Santana dares to look at her girlfriend. There's no anger or jealousy. No, Brittany's about to pee her pants from laughter.

"It's not funny." Santana stresses.

But the tears rolling down Brittany's cheeks prove the contrary. She gasps for air and punts one hand on top of her chest to control her breathing.

"Well, it was great running into one of your little gay minions." she concludes before wiping the tears of joy away.

"She isn't gay." Santana clarifies. "She used to have a ton of boyfriends, but we ran into each other and you know how _they_ are: chatting, hugging, overly touchy, calling all the time. Kissing when drunk and before you know it, you are their sexy pet toy."

Brittany scoffs and rolls her eyes, because she knows exactly what Santana means: "Fucking straight girls."

Santana decides to drop the awkward encounter and starts showing her girlfriend around the place. Brittany thinks it's beautiful. When they reach the bedroom, the model lies down on top of it and pats the side next to her. Suddenly, the happy tour is over. Brittany frowns the most disturbing frown and shakes her head accordingly. She even shakes her finger.

"Nu-uh, I'm not getting in that bed before you change the sheets."

The annoyance can be read off of Santana's face.

"You've got to be kidding me?" she scoffs.

But Brittany's not.

* * *

The girls get hungry and decide to cook. They go through an empty fridge and resort to ordering in. Chinese. A doorman sends the food up shortly after and they have their first tête-à-tête in what seems like forever. It's nice. It's familiar.

Santana tells the story about going through chemotherapy in Belgium. How lonely she felt, how being trapped in a room with nothing but regrets and vomit drove her close to insanity. She explains the brilliance of Dr. De Weerdt, and the gentle way he guided her through her treatment. And then there's brightness in her eyes when she recalls the day of the final verdict: the day she finally got into remission. There's nothing much Brittany can reply, though. She just listens in awe, realizing it's impossible to even imagine how it must have been. But Santana looks happy now. Happy to have told her. To finally be brutally honest about it.

Brittany remembers the lack of privacy ever since they arrived in New York, like those photographers at the airport. There were even a few downstairs, waiting for them to arrive home. Santana shrugs.

"It's part of the job. And it happens to be a job I love." she explains.

"But you haven't told them about the cancer?"

Santana starts smiling mysteriously and leans back in her chair.

"I don't want people to think that this illness is the biggest part of me - the most interesting part of me. I don't want to be Santana, the model with cancer. I want to be Santana - exclamation mark - the model - exclamation mark. I did such a good job holding it together back there. If they are going to start asking questions about it, I'll have to go back into that memory, about how bad it was. I don't feel like doing it."

When they start cleaning up, Brittany teasingly rubs the lower part of Santana's tummy. It sends shivers down her spine and that's okay. Brittany's hands are the most delicate. They circle around her skin in a way to memorize the texture of it. They caress her with a softness that no other girl has ever repeated. Santana feels like she's heating up. Being away from her for four years has suddenly ignited a roaring fire inside of her loins - and her heart. Because the perfect memory of their lovemaking just drives her insane.

"Hey, shouldn't we, like, take it slow or something? Don't you want that?" her little leftover of sanity suddenly utters.

Brittany stood three steps away from Santana just then. Now it's just two. Her grip feels tighter, firmer. It's kneading the sides of the Latina's waist now. Santana bites her lower lip and grins.

"I don't know. I guess we could have slow sex or something?" Brittany whispers sensually.

One step. A smirk colors her naughty face and Santana appreciates it way too much. Somehow, despite all the workouts and the successful modeling career, her body will always remain a reason to feel insecure around Brittany. Does she think she's pretty enough? Skinny enough? Muscled enough? But then their eyes lock and the look of the blue-eyed goddess says it all. Brittany thinks she's gorgeous. Santana bends over to her face and kisses the soft lips she's always missing whenever they don't touch hers. She pushes Brittany back against the kitchen cabinets. Gently, though. Nothing about this feels hasty or rushed. It's soft and loving. The way their bodies collide is magical. Santana runs some fingers underneath Brittany's shirt. She sighs into her mouth as the hardness of her nipples reaches her fingertips. Her arms lift the skinny blonde's body up until she's seated on top of the counter. Their kisses are starting to become deeper, more passionate. The girls recognize each other's scent and moving routine. Brittany pushes her breasts forward, forcing Santana to remove her hands, and their bodies blend. Before anything else starts happening, the girls softly start to pant.

"Want to go to the bedroom?" Santana proposes.

But Brittany seems fond of the position they're in.

"I'm fine here. After all, this is the room to go to when you crave something delicious, no?"

Santana smirks and nods before resuming the smooching. Then, she lowers her hands to the front of Brittany's pants. Her fingers unbutton the dark blue jeans, while Brittany returns the favor. The girls erotically undress each other - teasingly slow. It makes them feel hotter than they initially were. They make love, completely exposed in that kitchen. They forget about the bed or the couch and remain focussed on each other. Halfway through their sexual encounter, Santana stops for a moment. She gasps for air as her fingers run up and down Brittany's naked chest. The girl in front of her looks gorgeous. So amazingly beautiful that it chokes her up completely.

"I have missed this." the blonde admits and she feels more special than ever with this woman gazing at her.

"Of course you have, it can't get any hotter than sex with a supermodel/girl." Santana teases her.

Brittany clears her throat while pushing back the dark hairs blocking Santana's view.

"Shut up and say you missed it too." she then commands, ignoring this insistent sense of humor her girlfriend tends to weave through each and every conversation.

"I missed this too." a more serious Santana suddenly confesses.

It's the truth. Because here, more than ever, she feels save and happy to be healthy again. Seeing Brittany took away all the reasons to cry, all the doubts that kept her up at night, the great excuses to scare people off in order to protect herself.

The young woman starts to think back at days when she couldn't sleep for nights. Makeup artists needed lots of eye makeup to cover dark circles under her eyes. It was from crying. Or from strolling from bar to bar once she felt better, just to drink and have fake fun with strangers. Once back in the US, she sort of felt obliged to attend the celebrity parties, but in between all her famous friends she found herself glaring into the distance. Those activities were part to shift her point of view - keep her mind off of Brittany. Of course the people around her were awesome during the entire process of hearing the bad news to defeating the awful bastard cancer cells inside of her. She does have actual friends in the modeling world. Despite traveling around the world, hanging against the greatest billboards in New York or Paris and attending the best parties, they're all just people. People that want conversations to keep them grounded. People that need hugs when they don't feel great. People that want someone to care about their crap. Because even models have crap. And so when Santana passed out into her bed every night, fully clothed and as drunk as an Irish man after a Saint Patrick day celebration, some of her favorite girls came to check up on her. Julia Danes, Kathy McGrath or Silvie Vermeer, they all had their methods to keep her from having Brittany swirling around in her mind.

These girls started modeling around the same time. They feel connected, because the rest of their peers can't possibly understand the world they live in. Of course they know about the cancer. Some people were allowed to enter the private circle of undercover treatment. Luckily, they all proved to be trustworthy.

But now Brittany's here. And Julia, Kathy, nor Silvie need to help her get up in the morning. Santana's holding the reason of all her worrying in her hands - and at the same time, she's the perfect solution for everything. Her bad memories disappear and get erased whenever she stares into these blue eyes. And though she's extremely happy to be healthy again, it took her until now to be excited to be alive again.

* * *

**Hope you guys liked it ... Let me know what you thought of it ...**

**And - um - am I the only one going through some serious Brittana withdrawal?**


	11. All-consuming bliss

**All-consuming bliss**

_2015_

* * *

The sound of a ringtone reverberates through the luxurious living room. Since Brittany is tangled up with brushing her teeth, Santana runs towards the couch to find the little device. Covered in a stylish jumpsuit, she starts to throw pillows around to orientate the sound. There it is.

When she sees the word 'Mom' appear on screen, a minor panic attack sneaks up on her and she drops it immediately, like it'll bite her. Santana and Brittany's parents haven't talked in forever. Chances are they don't even know Brittany's with them. She sits down on the leather couch and hides the screen with the pillows. They must hate her as much as Brittany hated her. They don't know the complete story yet.

Something tells her not to answer, at all. Stay away from the little black electronic box until Brittany reappears from the bathroom probably is the best thing to do. The ringing ends and her heart makes a little jump of joy. She puffs, clearly relieved. But suddenly, the pillow stars ringing again. Santana frowns. Maybe it's urgent. Maybe something happened. She grabs the phone, presses the green telephone icon on the screen and holds it near her ear. Her heart stops beating.

"Hello, Brittany's phone." she says in a strict voice, hoping the person on the other side of the line won't recognize her.

It did sound kind of manly.

"Hi, this is Brittany's mother, Eleanor. Could I speak to my daughter, please?"

Santana bends over to glare into the bathroom and detects Brittany, overly enthusiastic to brush her teeth in New York. The Latina ponders out loud and clicks her tongue.

"I'm sorry but Brittany's a bit occupied right now. Should I give her a message?" she replies while anxiously waiting to get recognized.

The response goes dead and for three whole seconds, there's no sound to be heard.

"Santana?" the female voice suddenly wonders loudly. "Santana Lopez?"

Shivers - up and down her spine like witnessing a dead sentence. The repressed concern still can be detected. A nervousness creeps up inside of the Latina and after a short inner discussion about lying, Santana gives in.

"Yes, this is Santana. How are you, Mrs. Pierce?"

She tries to sound as genuine as possible. Somehow, it comes easy. This woman did a lot for her when she was younger. Unconsciously, some fingers start tapping the wood of the coffee table.

"Is Brittany with you?" her mother asks, still shaken up.

Santana nods, though the woman can never see it, and starts explaining: "We're in New York. I asked her to join me to a photoshoot. We - um - we ran into each other and one thing led to another."

That's as far as Santana is willing to go. Let Brittany explain the rest to them. Eleanor gathers her senses and starts coughing slightly.

"Well, will you tell her that she needs to be back in time for the fundraiser?" she asks. "It's in L.A., she knows where. Just tell her to be on time."

"Okay, I'll do that."

But the woman's not done yet: "Santana?"

That tone in her voice sounds really familiar. It's the same one that used to lecture them whenever they did something wrong. Panic sweat starts to well up from under Santana's skin.

"Yes, Mrs. Pierce?" she politely utters.

"We will talk when you visit."

Exactly short and stern enough to scare the living shit out of her. They say goodbye and the conversation ends. When Brittany joyfully escapes the bathroom, she stumbles upon the pale face of her girlfriend. The girl hasn't moved in over a minute and finally, the fright is starting to die down.

"What's wrong?" Brittany smilingly wonders.

"I feel so small and humble right now. If I were a man, I'd feel castrated."

The look of terror on Santana's face amuses her lover massively. She knows this is about a call, since the smartphone is still in her hands. Ultimately, Brittany puts the pieces together.

"Oh." she mumbles after twitching her mouth awkwardly. "That was my mom, wasn't it?"

Santana turns her innocent face around and nods. There's even a little bit of pouting to be seen.

"Anyway," Santana unexpectedly cheers up, "why is there a picture of me in your photo roll?"

Brittany frowns through the disorientation: "What?"

Her girlfriend holds the phone up.

"This picture." she shows her the screen. "Here. I hate this one."

It's Santana, walking down the street in baggy clothes, holding a cup of coffee. Definitely not a professional photoshoot.

"Why are you going throughs my photos?" Brittany suddenly questions the origin of the discovery.

A random, loud '_ha__'_ downplays the obvious curiosity she just displayed: "That is so not the point right now."

Nice dodge, Santana. Nice one. Brittany blushes and laughs a bit tongue-tied.

"This is my favorite picture of you." she admits. "Always carry it with me."

In fact, she has had this picture on her phone for three years. After the mysterious black-out of the phenomenon Santana Lopez, this was the first one to come up in over a year after her silent departure. She saved it and never deleted it again.

"This is a paparazzi pic." Santana notices. "I'm wearing no makeup, I'm walking out of the store with a cup of coffee in my hand and I look like I'm having a fucking hangover. Probably was having a hangover, now that I think about it."

Some flashes of a wild night resurface. She starts smiling to herself.

"No, look." Brittany clarifies, while putting a finger on the screen. "_That's_ my shirt you're wearing. You were wearing my shirt, after all that time. So it's my favorite picture."

Santana feels a warmth rising inside of her that burns her like fire. The answer is so honest and pure that it dazzles her. No other explanation could've ever been this great - this epic.

"And it's my favorite shirt." she softly smiles back.

* * *

The photoshoot takes place in a massive loft downtown Soho. When the two women arrive, three people immediately run over to them. Two assistants take over their bags, while a third one leads them towards the stylists. Rick Spencer is standing in the corner of the room, talking to the photographer. He notices his girls and smiles welcoming. On top of the nearby makeup tables, there are flowers for Santana, and a goodie bag with all sorts of high profile gadgets. They get offered a glass of champagne and a sandwich, but they decline the last.

"Wow. This is impressive, Santana. Too bad they didn't take a bow." Brittany admits while joking.

She's glaring around the room and can't help but think about how impressive this place is. This loft must be worth several millions dollars. It's amazingly beautiful. It's even prettier than Santana's.

"Shut up. I'll need to level up my game today. See that guy over there?" Santana points at some male model nearby. "That's Jeffrey McFlee. He's like twenty. Alexander loves him."

"Who?"

Santana scrunches her eyebrows and turns the palms of her hands towards the sky: "Alexander Dubrov."

But Brittany doesn't remember all the famous names that easily: "Oh."

All she sees are the guy's dark eyes. His long chestnut hair. His mysterious smirk as he floats through the area. That Jeffrey is hot.

"Rumor has it they are secretly dating. Though Jeffrey totally isn't gay, if you ask me. He just plays along - for his career, you see."

When Brittany's blue eyes glare at the model, slowly stripping down to his underwear, her heart starts beating a little bit faster. God, that's nice. That's like, photoshopped nice. Those muscles, those abs. Santana neglects to see the spark in Brittany's eyes and continues the rambling.

"Totally going to be all the girls aching to touch him today. Man gets adored by all the ladies campaign. You know, the usual."

She sits down on the coziest chair around and sighs, really feeling compassionate about herself.

"It's not easy being a lesbian in this industry." she concludes.

Brittany dreamingly remains focussed on the perfectly shaped figure of Jeffrey and smirks in between heartbeats: "Want me to do it for you?"

That's when Santana realizes what's going on and she slaps Brittany against her shoulder all annoyed. The dreaming is over, now all there's left is an upset growling. Brittany shrugs, it's not like she can help it.

One by one, the models start to gather in the room. Most of them are late. Next to the actual setup, there are five makeup chairs in the left corner. Three of them are already occupied. They finished up on Santana ten minutes ago, so she patiently sits on a windowsill, reading a magazine. The gorgeous model is wearing a sexy, black set of lingerie. It's made of lace and when she showed it to Santana, the girl had a hard time controlling herself. But Santana has covered it up with a bathrobe, to fight the chilly temperature in here.

Brittany is seated on the ground, right in front of her, covered in some casual outfit. There's too much going on right now for her to even be bothered with reading. All these models, these photographers and assistants, it's just overwhelming. No idea she had missed the sensation of it so much.

"Is it me, or is it gay in here?"

Santana looks up from her page and frowns her eyes. Did she just misheard what Brittany said?

"What?"

But clearly, her girl isn't joking: "Seriously, with how many of these models have you slept?"

After shortly prospecting the room and the present models, Santana turns her head back to Brittany. She utters a displeased scoff.

"What? What are you talking about?"

Two soft hands pat her butt cheek.

Brittany's unimpressed with the level of contribution: "Santana. Come on! Tell me."

But it's more than just hiding her sexual encounters. Not everyone in this world is as open about things like their preferences under the sheets.

"I can't! It's private stuff." Santana explains, keeping her voice down. "These girls are very careful about things like that."

Brittany's jaw drops dramatically. Then she starts laughing. The fact that she just said that, proves that she was right.

"I knew it! You totally had sex with some of them." she whispers way too loud.

Santana gestures her to take it down a notch. Someone might hear them.

"Oh, come on." she silently admits. "It was just one … of the girls walking around here."

She lifts her eyes to check if that's true. Unlike what she expected, Brittany's not mad or intrigued. She's full-blown curious.

"Which one? Tell me."

She turns around to sit on her knees.

"I am begging you."

Her hands are held together like a perfect angel. Santana chuckles and shakes her head. This is unbelievable.

"Pretty, pretty, pretty please. You can do anything you want with me if you tell me." Brittany promises with a naughty eyebrow wiggle.

Now that's what one might call a great business deal. Santana smirks and bends over to whisper a name in her ear. Brittany gasps for air and looks at her like one can only look up to an idol.

"Well done!" she congratulates her all impressed. "You should've invited me."

She turns her head to stare at the entire group of models, but Santana quickly stops her.

"Don't look! Besides, she wasn't that special. In the plenty of fish in the sea, you are my Nemo, Brittany. Always have been."

She feels like making up for it, but honestly, it isn't a big deal for Brittany. It'd be unrealistic to think that they didn't have sex while they spend their years apart. Some loud announcement happens at the entrance of the loft and the girls look up. It's another gorgeous female model, Cara something. Santana nods kindly and welcomes her to the photoshoot. The blonde girl walks over and gives her a warm kiss on the cheek. Then, she makes her way to the makeup stand, to join the others. Brittany looks at her lover and notices the weird twitch in her behavior.

"Okay," Santana subtly coughs, while flipping through the pages with flaming red cheeks, "maybe there are two."

"You slut." Brittany giggles.

Secretly, she's jealous. That girl was _hot_. She'd do her anytime.

The shoot unfolds wonderfully easy. The models all get along, the crew is motivated and fast, the photographer surprisingly quickly pleased. Seriously, this is about as good as it gets. The setup was as predictable as Santana guessed: Jeffrey's the guy shaking off all the girls. Brittany sees how Santana amusingly scrunches her nose in disgust after every intimate shot with him. She doesn't like him, at all. But he's hot. Not just in real life, but in the modeling industry as well. Everyone falls for his intriguing eyes; they stare into you and beyond. But according to Brittany, he's nothing compared to her girlfriend. When Santana smiles, the room lights up. When she laughs, the entire staff silences to hear the glorious sound of it. When she walks around the set, she isn't just walking. She's floating across the carpet floor, like her body is orchestrated by the wind. In between takes, the girls take five and have some drinks. Brittany's patience gets rewarded with soft kisses and longing looks. Everyone is staring at them all adoring.

"You walk amazing. Have I told you that?" she breathes in Santana's neck with her arms wrapped around her gorgeous body.

She didn't put the bathrobe on again, and Brittany couldn't be more thankful.

"You don't know how many lessons I had to take before I knew how to walk like a model." Santana clarifies, thinking back at the horrible Alexis Djokovic. "Let me tell you: normal people do not walk like models."

She kisses the lips of her girlfriend and suddenly, loud protest reverberates. It's the makeup artist, getting all worked up over the amount of times she had to touch up her lips by now. When Brittany turns her eyes to the left, she notices how some of the girls are extremely skinny, yet they look unhappy as hell. Furthermore, she saw bruises getting covered up with foundation. She's heard about the wild lifestyle of these successful youngsters. Her eyes glare at her famous girlfriend. Suddenly, she start to wonder.

"Did you ever do drugs?" she bluntly asks Santana.

The girl escapes from the embrace and expresses her surprise: "What? Oh, Brittany, why would you ask me that?"

The blonde scoffs and raises one eyebrow.

"Because I know how that modeling world has its twisted ways of acting out. And I know you. You wouldn't shy away from an experiment."

"That's true." Santana realizes. "And I may have tried some speed once at a party. But it drove me insane, so I figured it'd be best to never repeat that really awkward and expensive night. Plus, blood tests every now and then with the doctor."

She winks to turn the story into a joke. Brittany's glad she told her the truth.

"And what about your friends?"

Her eyes glare at some of the models that look really, really junkie-ish. Santana follows her movement.

"I don't know them all very well, but it wouldn't surprise me when I hear the stories. Rumor has it Silvie is popping pills, though. One time, right after my chemo, I had to take some medication and when she saw me taking them, she asked for some too. She thought they were something else. That's when I told her the truth about my disease and we became friends."

She talks about it like it's the most random thing.

"And what was her excuse?" Brittany wonders.

Her girlfriend shrugs and stares out of the window.

"I didn't ask. I didn't want to know."

The less she knows, the less she'll have to worry about it. It's that simple. For now, anyway. The last couple of years, she's been busy taking care of herself. There was no room for others.

"So, no drugs for you?"

Santana shakes her head. She did not just fight for her life to throw it all away with some hallucinating powder.

"Are you sure?"

Brittany just needs to ask. Not that she'd find Santana capable of doing drugs. It's just that life has surprised her a few times before.

The Latina goddess puts her hands on the blonde's shoulders and looks at her very persistently: "I am morally outraged! Trust me, I am responsible of the things that go through my mouth and nose. I assure you: no drugs - except the pre-scripted ones."

Her girlfriend believes her. Even apart from the joke, Santana came across very honest and serious. The photographer suddenly requests the crew back on set. He explains that the initial vision of the entire campaign was to lure people in, to enchant them with fairytale representations and promising prospects about life. Subtly, as a photographer, he suggests they take their tops off. They're all in for the idea, until Brittany pulls Santana aside and protests subtly.

"You can't do nudes." she insists. "You never did nudes."

Brittany sighs a loving smile and cups her hand: "Babe, it are classy pictures. You don't see a nipple, you just see some flesh. It's okay. I'd never do frontal-nude."

But the expression coloring Brittany's face gives it away. Something about Santana roaming her ex girlfriends and the hottest male model in the world doesn't soothe her at all. A couple of years ago, when the teenage capacity of completely dazzling one's mind and the hypnotizing aspects of a fairytale true love seemed the most realistic goals in live this all would've appeared to be innocent. But now they have grown up. They have a certain life experience. They know what happens when you strip down in front of someone else.

"I'm not feeling really supported right now." Santana notices.

Brittany bites her teeth, but hisses through them rather quickly: "Well, I bet that's what your boobs are thinking right now."

"Brittany!" the model silently utters in a way too objecting tone while putting both hands on each side of her slim body.

"I'm sorry. It's just … they can't see your boobs." Brittany utters while stuttering. "They see enough of you already. Your boobs are mine."

_Ooh_! Santana laughs displeased - dishonored. She can't believe how Brittany thinks about all of this. It's just a bareback picture. At most, she'll be covering her boobs with her hands while facing the lens. Nothing else will ever be exposed in front of the camera. Like Brittany said: from now on, it's all exclusively preserved for the love of her life. Artistically nude does, in fact, exist. The photographer has great ideas, the pictures can't be anything but amazing the way he's describing them.

"They won't see my boobs. I promise. I keep them for you." she tells the blonde.

Her hands cups the slim hands. Her eyes express both partly-apologies and compassion.

Brittany recognizes the look in her eyes and thinks about all the times that Santana got away with weird explanations.

"That's oddly romantic." she sighs.

Santana nods.

* * *

Eleanor and William Pierce organized the fundraiser to raise awareness and money for the sick child of one of their employees. The kid suffers from a chronic kidney failure disease. Soon, he'll need a new one and therefor, the parents are in desperate search to pay for the operation. Santana didn't want to join her girlfriend. Not in a million years. The Pierce's and her reunion, she was willing to put that off for another twenty years or so. But in the end, Brittany made her, partly by blackmailing her into caring for the sick child. Turns out Brittany is the dominant one, this second time around.

It takes exactly one minute and fifteen seconds before the in-laws find them. The place isn't crowded, which is unfortunate, so the entrance of the famous Santana Lopez doesn't go by unnoticed.

"Hi, honey." William shrieks before hugging his little girl.

He's notoriously happy to see his daughter. Eleanor follows her husband's example and wraps her arms around Brittany.

"Hi, mom. Hi, dad. Hope you don't mind, I brought Santana." she joyfully tells them.

But the parents' glance says it all. Santana carefully takes a step back and she scrunches her mouth to fake a smile. Even her modeling experience can't help her here. Her fingers nervously play with the hem of her mini dress. She dressed up extra nicely for this event, even though it's just a simple fundraiser. Her prep team flew out to L.A. to make her look amazing, actually. Her hair is up in a tight ponytail, her eyeliner is dark and mysterious. Her outfit is strict and formal. Hopefully, nobody will ever ask where she's keeping her phone hidden. Brittany's wearing a blue, strapless gown. She looks amazing. Her girlfriend is telling her that every five seconds.

At best, David will pop up in this room in a few minutes. He promised he'd make it as well. Santana promised him a hundred bucks if he did.

Eleanor and William keep a stern face and kindly ask her how she's doing. It's not sincere, anyone can tell. Their daughter picks up on the tension and coughs the awkwardness away.

"So, how is it going here? Expecting more people?"

The big hall is beautiful. You can find doctors and pamphlets regarding kidney diseases in every corner. There's even an open bar. Sadly, few people made it to this event. Santana scans the room and counts about fifty business men and women. She sighs - just like this hadn't gotten worse enough, this fundraiser will be a total failure and the parents will act out their frustration on her even more. Brittany promised she'd talk to them today. Surprisingly, there doesn't seem to be a rush.

"Not really. Most of them cancelled last minute. I feel really bad for Joe and his wife. They need the money." Eleanor sighs, completely disappointed.

A waiter walks by, nonchalantly, and Santana quickly snatches a glass of champagne from his tray. She empties it half in matters of seconds. Afterwards, she exhales her relief.

So much better now. Brittany's staring at her and suppresses an amused smile. When the model finds her former/renewed in-laws patiently observing her, she snaps out of her reserved attitude and turns around to chase the waiter.

"What the hell is she doing?" Eleanor asks her daughter.

A few hesitant gestures finally put some fingers against Brittany's lips. She chuckles to herself and rolls her eyes.

"Just wait and see."

But daddy William isn't in the most cheerful mood. He demands to know what's going on.

"Why are you here with that girl? I thought that -"

Santana suddenly reappears, tightly holding on to the waiter's sleeve.

"Sorry, that was rude." she apologizes in a way to make up for it.

She points at the tray full of beverages and invites them to take one as well. Hiding behind her hand, Brittany just can't stop smiling. Santana didn't even crawl like this for her. The parents must really frighten her.

Eleanor and William pick a glass of champagne as well. In order to completely exaggerate, Santana hands her girlfriend the same thing. Taking a submissive bow while letting go flashed through her mind for a second. Luckily, she didn't. Her eyes order Brittany to stop mocking her well-meant actions.

Eleanor and William straighten their nice clothes and share doubting looks. That's when they decide to part for a while and greet the other guests.

"Well, that went well." Brittany says, not sure how much she believes it herself.

Santana frowns completely thrown off and throws her hands up in the air: "What the fuck, babe. If looks could kill, I'd be dead twice."

She walks off to roam the room for a while. Paintings and art work decorate the place. Her father learned her a lot about that stuff and somewhere along the way, she started to appreciate it. Her own apartment is full of modern day artwork. George is very proud of that.

An hour later, she's completely cornered by people who recognize her from advertisements and gossip tabloids. She's handing out autographs and selfies like it's money. Part of her normally gets tired of it after a while, but now it's the ideal distraction from returning to the Pierce's. The pain in her cheeks, caused by her fake smile, on the other hand, is the worst she's ever experienced. But hey, bring on the fans. When she suddenly notices David walking by, she grabs his collar and drags him over to her exclusive group of new friends.

"Oh, my God. David, where have you been? I'm on trial here!" she hisses.

His eyes express confusion. At the same time, he feels scared about her aggressive attitude. He has no idea what she's talking about.

* * *

Brittany goes searching for her after making her own circle of bidding welcome. She's a big talker when it comes to fundraising. People's feelings get crushed by baby pictures of the patient: little Luke. He has dark curls and a cute smile. A silent sigh and a heartfelt lost tear makes the guests swipe open their checkbooks immediately.

On her way to the other part of the room she stumbles upon her parents. They just wrapped up a conversation with colleagues when they ask their daughter for a private moment. She quickly realizes this must be about Santana. Her blood starts boiling immediately. They'll be condemnatory from the first word that leaves their mouth. That's how they've talked about her for the past four years. Sure, Brittany talked along with them, but things have changed.

"What is it?" she asks with the defensiveness kicking in.

Eleanor wiggles her big hairdo and whispers after looking back - God forbid anyone might hear her.

"What is Santana doing here? Are you back together with _this girl_? Do I have to remind you of the devastating condition you were in when she left?"

Brittany looks at them condemning. _This girl_? Really? The lecture is well prepared. She didn't expect anything else. Truth is, her parents are just worried. As said before, they were the ones that picked her up when it happened. They saw their little girl crash and burn … and then jump off the cliff again. So she decides to soften up and sighs.

"It's complicated. Santana left because she was sick. That's why she's here as well, because she feel connected to this little kid."

And because Brittany made her. But that's not really relevant.

"Sick?" William asks, suddenly dropping the tough act. "What do you mean, sick?"

"Cancer sick." Brittany explains.

She closes her eyes for a second and still feels the shivers running down her spine every time she says the word.

"Blood cancer, actually. They treated it in Belgium. That's why she left. She didn't just …"

_Dump me_, she was going to say, but she holds it back. Her parents look flabbergasted. Brittany can't even catch them blink. Their stern faces vaporize.

"That's horrible. Oh, honey," Eleanor turns to her husband, "we've been horrible to her."

But Brittany calms them down quickly: "It's okay. She knows you don't know. And I told her I'd explain it to you guys when I found the time."

Her parents remain really quiet. They are trying to recall all the events that took place with reference to the break up. It all makes sense now. They've been mad for all the wrong reasons.

"Why didn't she just tell you?" her dad suddenly wonders.

Brittany shrugs and thinks about her answer for a moment.

"I still don't really understand it all. I've been trying to, but … I know she did it to protect me. She wanted me to go to Stanford. She thought that, if she told me, I wouldn't have gone."

She smiles to herself and realizes a simple thing by saying it out loud.

"She was right."

Her girlfriend is across the room, chatting with her favorite man in the world: David. Of course, it's about girls. Santana's best friends, actually: the singers and the models and the actresses.

"These famous models, they don't really bother me anymore." Santana shrugs. "I mean, the fact that they're famous. Even the fashion designers and the campaigns and stuff. It's just … normal now. They're just people, nice people. Funny and shy and talented. My friends. And I get paid a lot of money to stand in front of a camera and have the time of my life with those friends. They just happen to own some of the world's most recognizable faces."

David has known her for many years. She dragged him along to many, many photoshoots when she started the job. Still, he can't get over the fact that his cousin knows so many influential people.

"Lucky you, getting rich over some hobby." he sighs, dreamily staring into the distance.

Santana agrees, purely to mock him: "I know. It's a tragedy."

Then she takes a sip from her champagne glass and evokes her evil smile.

"And such a tragedy that I invited them all to be here …"

* * *

Brittany is still in the middle of explaining the circumstances to her flabbergasted parents. Suddenly, a lot of excited voices and noises reverberate from the entrance. When they turn their heads, a couple of breathtakingly beautiful people walk in. There's seven of them. One is Silvie Vermeer, the model Brittany met on several occasions in the past. She recognizes the rest, though not by name. Brittany's jaw drops. She clasps the sleeve of her father's very expensive vest.

"What?" he demands to know. "Who are they?"

How can he not recognize these faces? They are wallpapered against every billboard. Brittany's face lights up like a bundle of joy. She knows exactly why they are here.

"She brought the models." she utters in complete shock.

Her parents can't catch up, but she does. When the models arrive, the news will spread. When the news is out, the other guests will surprisingly show up. When the guests show up, they'll donate a lot of money. It's brilliant. Santana Lopez is brilliant.

Brittany storms through the crowd and jumps her girlfriend straight in the arms to kiss her. Santana is pleased: this is the ultimate way to thank her.

"Santana. This is … brilliant."

"Well, I thought that, in exchange for a couple of bucks, people can take a picture of my friends or asks for signatures. I called the ones that are in town. Luckily, us models, we care about sick children." she emphasizes the latter a bit to much.

Silvie recognizes Santana's girlfriend from a long time ago and generously says hi.

"So, Santana got her girl back, I see. Good, now she can stop crying like a little baby." she teases her good friend.

Brittany twirls her head and fakes a self-assured smile, even though her girlfriend can't seem to appreciate the painfully accurate description of her state of mind for the last couple of years. David, the cool, dreamy guy, stands frozen to the spot by the sight of so many gorgeous women. Poor blogger boy, still single. He missed Santana while she was gone, but not as much as roaming around the photoshoot sets with her colleagues.

She makes up for it when she introduces him to all her friends. They are all so lovely, so nice. The guy's face is worth a million bucks. Models - Victoria's Angels - are talking to him, treating him like he's one of them. One of them kissed his cheek and he didn't pass out.

"I can't believe you brought them here." he tells his cousin while refraining from jumping up and down like a little kid.

The girls have moved on to the part they came for: support Luke and his parents by raising money to pay for the treatment. They invite people to snap pictures of them, but on one condition: they'll need to make a donation.

"They are the it girls. I'm living every man's dream right now." David utters, realizing just how lucky he is.

He grabs his phone to tweet about it. But Santana rolls her eyes over his typical male behavior. At the same time, she realizes that her plan seems to work. Put in online, David. Before you know it, this room will be crowded. Poor little Luke will benefit from it. That's how the world works.

In between posing and chatting, the girls come over to Santana a few times. There's Silvie, obviously. Also Cam Fields, a gorgeous brunette. Virginie Le Grand, the French girl with the intriguing eyes. Angelina Vanderwaelen, so recognizable people just call her Angelina. June Hastings, cute, tall lady with black curls. And the two gorgeous black sisters, Brittany's favorites Tamara and Maggie. The impression they leave behind when they resume their angelic stroll through the crowd is overwhelming. Before Santana turns her head back from leaving a signature at the wrist of a little boy, she makes him promise to never wash his arm again. He does, which makes his mother laugh doubtfully. But then her eyes find her girlfriend and even if she would try, she couldn't stop the peaceful smile that takes over her entire face.

"What?" Brittany wonders, as she's close enough to pick up on the weird behavior.

Her lover leaves the crowd behind and turns her way: "What?"

Brittany squeezes her eyes and points at her face.

"You're smiling."

"So?"

"So, why are you smiling?" she wants to know.

Santana entwines their fingers and shrugs. This feeling inside of her, it's the most natural thing whenever she looks at Brittany.

"I'm smiling because of you. Because you make me smile."

Brittany smirks and bumps her shoulder all enchanted.

"You romantic bastard."

Suddenly, in between all of this overkill of models and gorgeous appearances, she feels loved and very, very pretty. Santana kisses her. She could do this forever. Eleanor and William stare at them, from across the room. They've noticed how the big donating box is starting to fill up. And now they notice how their little girl looks happier than ever. Even more than the first time around. They sigh and throw Santana a sweet smile. The Latina sees it and freaks out internally.

Win the parents back? Check. See, she always gets what she wants.

* * *

As the event is coming to its end, the music stars playing louder. Santana's friends are actually having a blast as they entertain the guests. They've started dancing with them. The mood is care-free, the crowd is pleased. Most of all, Luke will get whatever he needs. Santana playfully drags Brittany to the center of the dance floor and forces her to slow dance. After some hesitation, the blonde accepts.

"You were really impressive back there." Brittany whispers proudly in her ear.

Santana makes her twirl under her right arm and pulls her close to her chest soon after. Her eyes break past Brittany's - straight into her soul. If there was a symbol for love, it'd be the expression on Santana's face right now.

"I don't want to _impress_ you, Brittany." she calmly clarifies. "I want to _marry_ you."

The dancing abruptly stops and Brittany stares at her completely overwhelmed.

"What?"

Her girlfriend forces her to resume the romantic wiggling, because she's enjoying it too much.

"Seriously." she then stresses. "I mean, not tonight, but … one day."

Her face lights up with a mysterious smile. Her lover would make a gorgeous bride.

"Well," Brittany suddenly informs her, "I've seen a curious trend in your family that sort of frightens me to marry you."

The model starts laughing softly and shakes her head a bit thrown off: "What are you talking about?"

Brittany shrugs while swaying the woman that she loves from left to right.

"All the women in your family die. Like, really early. They have kids and then they just … You know."

"Drop dead?" Santana adds amusingly.

"Not my words." the blonde growls.

But Santana has a perfectly reasonable explanation for that: "Only those who married the men in our family die. It's a fact."

Brittany heaves a fake relieved smile, like that just magically erases every doubt she's ever had.

"So you mean the curse punishes the straight people?"

Santana keeps her face remarkably serious and nods: "Duh!"

"So." Brittany recalls the point of this entire conversation. "Basically, you're asking me to marry you?"

She awaits the answer of her gorgeous girlfriend, who can't be bothered with all the people around them. They are slow dancing together and it feels like they're all alone in this place, enchanted by the magical dimension they get pulled into by staring into each other's eyes. If they'd die right this second and went to heaven, it'd take them a week to realize they aren't alive anymore.

"Yes, I guess I am. I'll give you some time to think about it."

Her voice sounds like a very disciplined high school teacher. Brittany smiles softly and feels her heart racing. She puts her head on Santana's shoulder and wonders whether she should pinch herself to get drawn back to reality. This is what they call 'all-consuming bliss'. This is when your heart is about to explode with love. They continue the intimate dance and remain quiet for a while. Then, Santana thrusts her shoulder so the girl will look up.

"So, thought about it?" she asks, carrying a smile from ear to ear.

Brittany amusingly objects: "It'll have to be a bit more romantic, Santana. You could at least go down on one knee."

See, that's not the way Santana's brains work.

"If I go down, there are certain expectations." she explains in a naughty voice.

Sure, throw in a sexual comment. Brittany's face stiffens, so do her eyes.

"Totally ruining the moment here."

Her girlfriend ignores the comment and stares dreamingly into the distance.

"Just wait." she promises. "You got a fucking surprise coming."

* * *

**This was just totally adorable stuff ... I couldn't help myself!**

**Clearly, these girls act like nauseating love-fools around each other and I love it.**

**Let me know what you think - and what Santana's surprise might be ;)**


	12. Another friend

**Another friend**

_2015_

* * *

David puts his hands against the door of Santana's new apartment in town and shakes his head really disapprovingly.

"Never go in there without knocking. Trust me." he informs Susan.

But the girl ridicules his words and pushes the front door wide open. Why the hell would they give David a key if they didn't want him to use it?

Once entered, she finds them both barely dressed on the couch, quickly pulling their hair into ponytails. Their cheeks are flushed, but at the same time, they're giggling.

David leans against the door frame and shrugs: "See?"

Surprise throws Susan a bit off. It's the first time she gets to meet Santana Lopez. Brittany's been planning this for weeks. She didn't expect to walk in on a make out session.

"Gay!" Susan utters before shaking her head in a panic. "I mean, _hey_!"

A shameless Santana starts laughing out loud and gets up on her feet to button up the last of her shirt.

"It's okay. Never too early to be enthusiastic about homosexuality."

Susan, even more embarrassed than a second ago, remains stunned about her little slip of the tongue. Brittany coughs distractingly and walks over to drag her best friend towards the love of her life. She's dressed again, though her hair looks like a mess. Plus, there's the obvious sex glow.

"Susan, Santana." she points out. "Santana, Sue."

The second Santana's hand touches her dark skin, Susan gasps for air. It's unreal.

"Oh, my God. You're a supermodel."

Brittany starts laughing over her _fangirling_ attitude. But it's not like it's the first time that Santana meets someone who turns out to be overwhelmed.

"And you're not." Santana playfully downplays the importance of her fame. "Nice to meet you."

David puts down the food he took along and the group of friends sits down to talk about the past few days. Susan is intrigued by the complete normality Santana exhales. She's just another girl that grew up in a small town. Except she scored a modeling contract and became a big star. Sadly, she also got cancer.

"You've been around the world." the curious stranger notices after an hour of talking. "Do you feel like you've got life lessons to share?"

Brittany informed her girlfriend about the overly blunt characteristics of her best friend. It's fun to watch, _until_ she targets you. But Santana can handle a girl or two. It takes her a few moments of pulling weird, thoughtful faces before she answers.

"Date girls with short nails." she winks.

Brittany pokes her waist and smiles. David, on the other hand, rolls his eyes. This teenage behavior never seems end.

"So it's official then? You're together-_together_ again." Susan dreamily asks.

Santana and Brittany simultaneously nod - pretty proud about themselves: "Yes."

David smirks and takes a sip of his beer: "Changing Facebook relationship statuses now?"

They all start laughing, until Brittany bends her upper body over the table and shakes her head.

"Can't. This one here doesn't have an account anymore ever since she fled the country."

But the cousins suddenly remain startled. They exchange looks and that's when Santana decides to fess up.

"Oh, I do. I just blocked you when I left."

Brittany's jaw drops while Susan and David start laughing.

"You did _what_?" the blonde utters in complete astonishment.

Susan sticks a piece of bread in her mouth, awaiting the disaster that's about to happen right in front of her. Supermodel fight. This should be good. This cannot end well. Not even in dream sequence. Should she tweet about it?

"I'm sorry." Santana amusingly apologizes. "It was the only logical thing to do. Here, I'll unblock you right now."

She grabs her phone and opens some apps to undo the bad. But her girlfriend can't really understand how she can act so lightly about it.

"Are you freaking kidding me?" she scoffs while turning her hands towards the ceiling. "How about simply defriending?"

Santana's face suddenly turns stoic. She softly shakes her head and expresses the most profound expression of aversion.

"Oh, no. That's just rude." she whispers all offended.

They both start smiling and just like that, the dream sequence sets in. There's no fight, there's no quarrel. And the simplicity with which they solve such a fragile topic leaves their friends speechless. Though, as memories strike David, they've used this inconvenient way of problem-solving before. It's mesmerizing to see how these girls can forget about everyone around. They get sucked into their magical, mythical little world reserved for two. Nobody around gets granted even a second of their attention once they arrive to that place. AA-meetings, he recalls his own words.

"What did you guys do last night?" he changes the subject subtly, hoping they'll snap back to reality.

"Just hog the couch, watch some movies. I actually think I didn't move for four hours straight." Santana recalls.

Her eyes grow big and her face glares up.

"It was amazing."

Life has been so busy lately. Doing nothing is the closest to a weekend at a spa right now. Susan, still more restrained than usual, looks at her. The realization that she's having dinner with a supermodel still scares her a bit. When they walked into this apartment building, there were three photographers roaming around the place. Word's going around about Santana Lopez's mysterious move. The media have localized her fast. Then again, it's not like she's the hiding or camouflaging type. Santana couldn't care less about the paparazzi interested in snapping some pictures. If you pay them some attention, they let you off pretty easy. Act like a bitch and they'll hunt you down. The entire world knows Brittany is her girlfriend by now. They are being photographed all the time, in the most adoring and affectionate situations. While they are out getting coffee or going to the movies, when they attend events or parties. Brittany was impressed at first, when she started getting recognized as well. She got over it quickly, though, as Santana showed her how to deal with it. Public life is one big flashing event now, blinding your eyes - it'll get familiar after a while.

As Brittany's phone suddenly starts beeping uncontrollably, David feels disappointed about the answer to his question.

"What? Why? _Why_ have you become so boring?" he demands to know.

Brittany grabs her smartphone and starts checking the notifications. Suddenly, her face lights up.

"I'm sorry." Santana chuckles. "Not every day can be an excerpt from a lesbian porn movie."

Susan starts laughing uncontrollably. She's a big fan of this private Santana. Her cautious eyes notices just how happy her great friend Brittany is looking. She's been smiling for hours now, without even realizing it yet. Her entire face radiates an enchanting glow. Her cheeks must hurt.

"We watched a lot of old movies. It's for research. Thinking about my career, you know." the blonde completes the rather blunt explanation of her lady lover after laying down the phone.

"Like you ever watch the actual movie when you're sitting next to Santana. You end up staring at her without even blinking." David questions the authenticity of her review of last night.

"Well, I could stare at Santana all day and still think I'v been productive." Brittany proudly announces.

Susan, leaning her head on her fist, sighs through her all-consuming admiration of the great, famous Santana Lopez and agrees: "Me too."

When the rest turns their heads her way, she realizes her words weren't said inside of her head. Santana thinks Susan is adorable and pats her hand. Brittany, on the other hand, can't believe how easily her girlfriend can make people question their sexual orientation. Suddenly, another beep reverberates.

"Santana, tell me. What does 'shipping' mean?" she suddenly wonders.

Santana turns her head and frowns: "What?"

"Shipping." the blonde elaborates, pointing at her phone. "You added me, like, a minute ago and my Twitter feed's blowing up with your fans telling me they 'ship' me with you. Where will they ship us to?"

Her famous girlfriends starts laughing uncontrollably and apologizes for the suddenly explosion of fame. This is what fans do, really. You add a new follower, they investigate. They're Pit Bulls.

"It means they know who you are and they approve of me being with you." Santana rapidly summarizes with one eyes squeezed shut.

"Why would I need someone's approval?" Brittany scoffs amusingly while discovering some new comments. "And what is an OTP? Is it a sexual thing?"

Santana, who thinks this might have been the cutest thing Brittany ever said, cups her mouth with one hand: "Oh, you're so new to this. How cute."

"By the way, you said you'd call me. You didn't." David addresses his cousin in between bites of his meal, completely interrupting the conversation.

That was three days ago. In other words: three cities and two photoshoots ago. Somehow, Rick managed to organize four meetings as well.

"I'm sorry." Santana apologizes, while turning to him again. "I had a lot of stuff to do."

Her girlfriend is still determined to find out what the abbreviation means, so she draws Santana's attention by yanking at her shirt.

"It's nothing dirty, baby. It means 'one true pairing." the Latina explains in order to wash away the worried assumptions in Brittany's mind.

Holding himself in great esteem, the cute blogger looks up and demonstrates his prettiest smile: "What? Calling your cousin isn't on your most important list?"

His cockiness enlightens a teasing fire inside of Santana. There are too many people talking.

"Well, there is a list, but I prioritize." she explains. "It goes like …"

The girl puts her flat hand high up in the air. Susan and Brittany sit quietly, watching her.

"If you have boobs." Santana resumes.

She then lowers her hand until it nearly touches the floor. Her friends follow her movements.

"If you don't have boobs."

Brittany slaps the table and bursts out into laughter. She calls out Santana's name a few times but can't seem to talk, let alone breathe decently.

It's amazing how easy this entire night is going. How everyone is just so crazy about each other. The second Susan starts talking about the new movie project, though, the happy atmosphere shifts. Suddenly, Santana looks down and sad. Nobody except Brittany knows what it is about.

"We won't be seeing each other for a week. Victoria's Angel over here has to go to New York for a fashion event. And I'll be in Los Angeles."

The more she hears it out loud, the more depressed Santana seems to find herself. Given, Brittany's not happy about it either. But that's what you get with two careers in showbiz.

"And then Paris, London, Rome, … You name it." she recalls.

"You're going to wake up with tears in your eyes and then Rick will have to come drag you out of the bed, right?" Brittany predicts, slightly dramatized.

But unlike Susan, who would feel rather offended after hearing those words, Santana remains quiet. An awkward silence fills the space for a while. Then she admittedly shrugs and faintly scrunches her nose: "Yes. He's going to kill me again."

Rick did it before. Brittany's aware.

"How does she know that?" Susan whispers to her dinner neighbor.

David smirks. Susan's not used to this yet. Truth is there's no answer. It has taken him a lifetime to discover that he will never understand either.

"I know _everything_ about this girl." Brittany tells her, picking up on the secretive behavior. "She can't stand sleeping alone. She used to call me every ten minutes when she was out of town for the job. Crocodile tears all the way."

Santana starts pouting adorably. Almost like she's proud of it.

"It was sweet." she claims. "You thought it was sweet, too. Trust me, you're the only one that knows this side of me."

The overly curious Susan giggles and insists that this behavior goes on for a while longer.

"Tell me something else about her. She can't just be a great model, right? There must be other hidden talents." she asks.

David wiggles his nose and interrupts the conversation: "Not really."

But Santana defends herself by kicking him under the table. His face stiffens in pain. The girls mock him.

"One of her biggest talents is the fact that she can say the word _fuck_ in so many varying tones that it actually expresses a gigantic range of emotions." Brittany finally answers.

Given it's such an impressive characteristic, Santana starts to gloat.

"It's true. I do that. And what else do I do that I'm not aware of, my dear?"

She kisses Brittany's temple adorably. Susan melts. Brittany and Christopher never acted this way.

"You don't do normal." the blonde continues with a half smile. "You're either ecstatic or depressed. There's no in between."

The fights and the romantic gestures. From zero to ten in a second. A lifetime of memories.

"Sorry." Santana pouts.

But Brittany refuses to accept the apology: "Don't be. I love that about you."

She bends over to kiss Santana on the tip of her nose. Susan secretly asks David if they do this all the time and he confirms her suspicion.

"What about you, Susan?" Santana snaps out of the ecstasy. "A boyfriend? Or two?"

The girl runs some fingers through her short hair and scoffs self-confidently.

"At least three."

That makes Brittany burst into laughter: "Yeah, right. The imaginary ones, you're talking about?"

Susan throws a piece of bread her way and misses Brittany's head by an inch.

"We can't all have a supermodel to our disposal the minute we get bored with boys." she viciously lashes out.

Santana can't help but applaud appreciatively. Brittany tells herself it's just a joke.

"I can't help it." Susan then proceeds. "I need a man in control. Someone who will tell me what to do and who gets angry when I stay out too late. They don't stand on the crossroads handing out their cellphone numbers."

She sighs while dreaming about the man of her dreams. David awkwardly clears his throat. This isn't his habitat. In fact, this conversation asks for another drink.

"So who wears the pants in your relationships?" Susan sneers, while looking at her blonde friend.

"A lot of times, neither of us." she responds, a little too cocky.

David spits out the bit of beer left in his mouth and insists they stop talking like this around him.

"Now tell me." Santana curiously addresses Susan while turning her head. "You just met me. What do you like most about me?"

She's always passionate about finding out how people feel about her. So every now and then, she organizes a personal questionnaire. It's good for her confidence, you see. Models like that a lot.

After taking a sip, Susan rotates her head as if she's thinking this through thoroughly: "Your sarcasm and your homosexuality."

Brittany throws her head back and starts laughing hysterically. Just like David, she can't belief how she comes up with this crap.

But Santana couldn't be more impressed with Brittany's friend. She squeezes her eyes briefly and smirks.

"Good answer. I like you."

* * *

It's been seven days since the girls saw each other. Seven long, awful days, filled with dramatic phone calls and cheesy text messages. Funny, actually, since they've been apart for four years before that and survived with no more that a decent cry once in a while. But after their reunion, the realization that their love comes in such epic proportions that even those four years can't change a thing, five minutes feels too long. Because now they call themselves 'yours' and 'mine'. They are official, exclusive. And they can't wait to see each other again, because unlike before, there's no anger or hatred. There's the certainty that they'll kiss and make love and act like love sick puppies. It's addictive and craving. It can't be stopped. And they don't mind.

At first, they'd meet on Wednesday, but Brittany's work got in the middle. So Santana wanted to fly back to Los Angeles, but sadly, Rick had other plans for her. Their schedules are killing their sweet lady kisses time.

"Kathy, how's my hair? Is it alright?" Santana nervously asks.

The Asian hotness turns her brown eyes her way and starts laughing out loud.

"We are at a runway event. We are the special Victoria's Secret guest Angels. Three hair specialist just worked on you like they were Picasso and you were their work of art." she explains.

"So, that's a yes?" Santana wonders.

It's true. But none of that matters. All that matters is what Brittany will think about her hair when she's going to walk in later. Santana got her tickets for the event. It's been a lifetime ago ever since she saw Santana run in person. Something about catwalk shows is so thrilling. Santana used to make fun of it, but now she craves for them when it's not really the season. Paris, London, New York, even Brussels - she flies to all of them. Even better: she gets asked for all of them. The bizarre attitude a model must attain while posing like a Queen on high heels is exhilarating. People stare at you in awe and observe every single detail of your movements. You don't just walk, no, you demonstrate a skill - a speciality that few people can master. It only takes a couple of seconds each time you make your way up and down that magical stage, but the thrill and pressure makes them last forever.

"Did you ever fall? Like … 'flat on your face, hurt yourself a little and still got up to finish the act'-fall?" Santana wants to know.

One of her best friends looks her way and scoffs: "Of course I did. My first catwalk for Yves Saint-Laurent. It was terrible, but let me tell you: I went down and the world talked about it."

Santana can't seem to remember that one: "Epic proportions?"

Kathy nods, while running a finger through her hair: "Epic bruising as well. You?"

"Yeah." Santana hesitantly admits while checking her abs in the mirror. "Just got out of my cancer thingy. Gravity was being a bitch back then. But I did it elegantly."

Kathy knows she's allowed, so she laughs about it: "Oh, yeah. I remember. You got up, yanked off your shoes and almost danced your way backstage."

They both laugh and subsequently get sucked in by the catastrophic atmosphere behind the scenes. Catwalks, they consist of seconds glued together. In between those seconds, there's stylists and designers, hunting the models and forcing them towards the X in front of the mysterious curtain that'll lead to the most nervous seconds of a career. Every single one of them - it never gets old. That's why it's addictive.

"Santana, two minutes!" a sweaty assistant suddenly yells her way.

Kathy looks at her and chuckles: "Wow. And people always think we are being treated like angels."

The Latina gets on her feet and checks herself out in the mirror again. She looks dazzling in that dress. Red, shiny fabric, deep cleavage, high split. She could get married in this dress.

"We _are_ angels, Kathy." she corrects her friend while picking up a tiny, tiny piece of fabric and clasping onto it with her fingers. "Let's do this."

As she's making her way over to the area right behind the curtains, three assistant designers and one makeup artist perfect her look. Not much is needed, though, the girl looks drop dead gorgeous - as always. It's remarkable how beautiful she is. Santana heaves a couple of nervous sighs. God, she's been doing this too long to still feel like she's about to throw up.

Truth is: it's the change that you'll fall. You need to walk in such a dramatic and expressive way that the little needles beneath your shoes have all the more reason to crack. Your ankles are way too fragile to not twist when you misstep slightly.

There's a lot of noise behind the scenes. People are hysterically calling each other's name, assistants are on the search for missing models, designers are freaking out about a little wrinkle in a delicate fabric. Santana enjoys it, she feeds on this active aggression. The chubby guy in front of her winks at her. Saying her name out loud probably wouldn't gain her attention anyway. He taps his watch and gestures at the curtain.

"Twenty seconds." he warns her.

She makes her way over to the X-marked spot and exhales through her pouted lips. Her fingers play around with the little piece of red fabric she took out of her purse a minute ago. It feels soft and important. She tries to hide if for the rest of her colleagues as good as possible.

"Relax." she tells herself in a way to calm down a bit. "You can do this."

It's not really working. She reminds herself of her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were painted dark - almost black. Her hair was pulled back in such a polished, tight ponytail. The skin of her head is starting to hurt already. She looks fierce - fiercer than normal. Her lips are fire red, so are her cheeks. The shoes she's wearing cost around eight hundred dollar, yet they clasp her feet like a bear trap. But it's okay. This is what a model is born for. These next forty seconds of fame, of admiration, of judgement. Of potential humiliation.

She counts down the seconds in silence now. Three, two, one.

The curtain opens majestically and that's her cue. Her walk is self-sure and firm. It's fast, yet according to the beat of the overwhelmingly loud music reverberating through the room. Her arms remain relatively stiff, while her shoulders wiggle elegantly from left to right. Her attitude is priceless, it exhales the definition of a diva. If she would look into the sun right now, the sun would go blind. She can't see a thing, all the lights are aimed her way. Besides, she must remain focussed on the back of the room, the camera light that takes a shot of her in the far distance. That has always helped her. It prevents her from walking unsteady or askew. Luckily, she's known to pull a weird face or two at events, so even when she would fail at keeping her miraculous act together, each and every single one of the people present would adore it. From the corner of her eyes, she goes looking for Brittany. Maybe she's running late. Maybe she's not even here. That thought suddenly makes it a lot easier for her to pass the seconds with full concentration. See, Brittany being absent would be a gift. It would take away all the pressure and anxiety she hasn't experienced in years. But halfway through her routine, at the very end of the catwalk, she recognizes the face she has adored since forever. It's her beautiful blonde goddess, looking at her with eyes she's never come across before. It's utter pride and adoration. It's desire and astonishment. Her heart starts racing, like it's the first time that anyone has ever made her feel beautiful. That's rare, you see, when every single person in the world tells you you are.

Santana stops, puts both hands on her hips and curves her body in a way a true model would. She then holds her flat hand to her lips and blows a kiss Brittany's way. Totally unpredicted, totally unscripted, but the flashing lights go out of control. The media is crazy about the lesbian it-couple. It took the paparazzi three days before Santana and Brittany were snapped kissing each other. It took them another six before Santana shrugged her shoulders over the question wether or not she was a lesbian. It took another five before she wore a T-shirt that said 'I'm in love with Brittany Pierce'. She never lied about her sexuality. There were just never girls that were worth going public for. Or boys, for that matter. Santana Lopez has been single since forever. Until now.

While staying at the edge of the stage, her other hand makes a swing and the piece of fabric she held onto so firmly flies through the air. A surprised Brittany catches it properly, just a few yards in front of the focussed Santana. The blonde looks surprised and giggles, while poking her friend Sue all excited. Santana winks at her, turns around with a smirk that'll appear on every fashion blog later tonight and continues her professional, dazzling stroll back to the dressing area and important fashion people behind the curtains. She's gone, and the crowd has loved every moment of her appearance. Nothing new.

Brittany looks at the fabric in her hands and starts to recognize just what it is. It's a soft, snuggly red teddy bear-_ish_ lap, folded into a little ball of cuteness. When she unravels the little toy to its original state, she notices the shinny little, white gold ring attached to its left paw. On its belly, there's a message.

Susan's jaw drops when she curiously looks down on Brittany's lap.

'Marry me?' it says.

The woman puts both hands in front of her mouth and gasps - speechless for the first time in her life. Just like Brittany, who just sits there in complete shock, re-reading the text about twenty time to make sure the alternating darkness and flashing lights don't play funny games with her mind. A couple of photographers recognize her from previous outings with Santana and are dying to know what keeps her busy to the point she can't even be bothered to look up at the other models anymore.

Santana Lopez just asked her to marry her, in the middle of a world famous fashion event, surrounded by the world press. Her fingers linger over the piece of art - the ring in fact. It has three little diamonds processed into the gold. It's elegant, it's beautiful, it's perfect. Brittany unties the little string that keeps it close to the teddy bear's paw and starts smiling all of a sudden. She can't believe Santana did this. Sure, something major was promised to her the last time she mocked a semi-attempt at a proposal, but this is way out of line. Dramatically out of proportion and of course: true Santana Lopez style. Trembling fingers put the ring around her finger and the enchanting, all-consuming emotion of love might just swallow her whole while the rest of the fashion show happens like it's a background noise.

Susan, still in shock, elbows her neighbor, a wealthy woman in her forties, and enthusiastically informs her about the purpose of the mysterious flying piece of fabric a minute ago. The photographers have picked up on it, though, and they shoot prove of the truly mesmerizing expression on Brittany's face. She can't stop staring at the ring.

How is this even a proposal? She hasn't even said yes yet. Given, her eyes do the talking right now. It's such a _yes_ that a simple _yes_ can't even compete.

When she finally looks up again, she finds a co-worker in the distance, walking her way. He hands her a piece of paper, with the directions to the backstage area. After her next walk, Santana expects Brittany to be there. And kiss her. And squeeze her supermodel butt. Exact words.

* * *

The ever too modest Julia Danes is seated across the dressing room. Santana has barely spoken to her, so a faint wave and an unspoken 'I'll talk to you later' made up for the lack of trying. Not just the placing arrangements are poor. There's also the fact that Julia brought her badass boyfriend Justin with her. He's such a tool - Santana would love to pierce his head with one of her high heels. But there's no time for that. And those heels are way too expensive.

After calming herself down in record time after the spontaneous proposal, Santana gets pulled into a fairytale set of lingerie. It's black lace covering barely any parts of her body now. People are gluing a perfected pattern of fake diamonds to her skin. Her back gets mounted with a thing that represents angel wings. She looks breathtakingly beautiful, now that her hair is curly and wild. The things these hairdressers and makeup artist can do in just a breath of time, it's unbelievable. They have switched her from an uptight secretary into a naughty angel in a matter of minutes.

"So, the great Santana has yet another girlfriend." a familiar voice suddenly reverberates from behind her. "I read it in the magazines."

The voice alone makes her shiver. She looks over her shoulder to find the notoriously annoying Justin. This guy is so full of himself. Santana refrains herself from telling him it's 'shit' actually.

"Shut up, Justin." she snorts, rolling her eyes at the nerdy assistant designer pushing her boobs in the perfect way.

That person has trouble keeping an impressed smile to herself. It's weird how touchy-feeling every single one in this industry is. People run around naked and nobody even cares. They pull up bras and panties with the models even in them and it's the most natural thing in the world. Stress and a tight schedule has a lot to do with it. Plus, after a while, you simply get used to it. Must be how gynecologists feel.

"What? Must say, you certainly have a type." he continues unrestrained, while glaring at the models surrounding them.

The way he lays his eyes on all the girls nauseates Santana. He's a perv, a disgusting little prick. If it weren't for his influential daddy, nobody would even let him in here. In fact, apart from him, only people that are work-related to this runway show are allowed in here.

"So do you, the ones that like running into your fist." she reacts full of sarcasm and fierceness.

Kathy happens to pass by and after overhearing the comment, she laughs out loud. The guy's expression changes instantly. He can't stand that she figured out why Julia is always so fragile and bruised. 'I fell down the stairs' has stopped working months ago. The girl is terrified of him, constantly makes excuses for his behavior and stresses how much he loves her without people even asking about it. Santana's not buying any of it, especially when he starts acting like a jerk to her face. He can't stand it, though, the lack of intrigue creeping up on her whenever he's nearby. This guy lives for women that are scared of him. Sadly, the only thing in the world that scares Santana is a disease called cancer. And she has beaten that one as well.

In a rather predictable twist of events, Justin steps up to her to yell at her. Santana couldn't be less impressed. It's like he's air to her. What is he going to do? Slap her? She might fight like a girl, but girls fight dirty. He'd get a nasty scratch across the face somewhere along the line.

"What are you going to do?" she challenges him, raising her voice loud enough to catch the attention of all the people present. "Hit me? In front of all these people? No. That'll be too public for you, right?"

His eyes rage like a burning fire. Oh, he wants to hit her, it's just that she's right. Nobody knows this part of him. Except Julia's best friends. They are on to him. And he's out of his mind over the fact that he lost that power.

It takes her a minute before the security removes him from the backstage area. In this little world of her, it's simple. She's one of the most important models at this event, she gets to call the shots, not this idiot. Besides, her colleagues don't seem to appreciate the way he's talking and staring at them. But it takes a brave Latina to stand up to him.

Suddenly, Julia appears and after their brief 'hello' from two hours ago, she doesn't exactly look thrilled to see her old friend again.

"What the hell, Santana?" the second greeting goes.

Not even attempting to apologize, Santana throws her a serious look: "Seriously, ditch the asshole."

It's a warning, not an opinion.

"He's not always like this." Julia starts the standard explanation once again.

But Santana's tired of it. Julia is an awesome girl. She's gorgeous, she's sweet, she's massively talented. Guys would fight to be with her. And she just fights to convince herself she's happy.

"No, only when he's awake, right?" the Latina scoffs, while walking to the X mark once again.

The final round. She'll get to see Brittany's face now. Nothing, not even the most insecure part of her heart makes her question the answer she'll be receiving by the look on her lover's face. It'll be a yes. It'll be a flabbergasted, overwhelmed, filled with love yes. Because she'd feel the same if it was the other way around.

"You don't understand, Santana." Julia calmly follows her.

The girl's not even upset enough to appear believable. Her short hair is up in the sky, wild and hip. Her sharp face lacks emotion. The pink bikini covering her body fits her perfectly, though.

"No, _you_ don't understand." Santana replies almost desperate enough to stop trying. "Life's too short, trust me. He's not worth it."

It applies to many parts of her life. Many things she discovered. Julia looks at her and sighs, too tired of all of this to even make up yet another excuse.

"You know, I just proposed to Brittany." Santana continues softly, almost not believing it herself. "I threw her a ring and as I walked back, I didn't even see her face, but I felt it in my bones that it was a yes. Because she's the reason that made me fight this cancer. It made me beat it. It's her face and the way she looks at me that makes me feel special and loved. He doesn't do that with you. You wouldn't fight for him. He's not worthy of you, Julia. There are a million other great guys out there, you just have to open your eyes."

But through all of Santana' enchanting and heartwarming words, the startled Julia suddenly snaps out of the spell.

"You _tossed_ a ring at your girl?"

It almost sounds like a terrible thing to do. Like you'd ask a hooker to marry you after throwing her a hundred dollar bill. Santana starts shaking her head convincingly.

"No, I didn't _toss_ it. I majestically _threw_ it her way. Oh, my God, I tossed it, didn't I?"

She shakes her head and overthinks her own action, but then sticks to the initial idea: "No, it was _epic_. I was on the catwalk and it was a teddy bear made out of this pretty, red -"

But Julia needs further clarification: "Wait, just a second ago? You asked her to marry you, surrounded by the world press, by throwing her a teddy bear cloth - _just a second ago_?"

Santana, suddenly feeling rather insecure about her bald style, scrunches her eyebrows and hesitates before answering. This might be a deal breaker. What if her explanation just made the story even worse?

"Yes." she stutters so insecure that it's dead-cute.

But Julia's face clears up and she starts clapping her hands uncontrollably: "Oh, my God, Santana. That's so cheesy in such a badass way. I would marry you in an instant."

Suddenly, Santana's name reverberates. It's that sweaty assistant again. She's up. One last time.

* * *

This might have been the most magical catwalk she has ever done. Santana feels pumped and high from the adrenaline when she storms to her changing area. Everyone's applauding. The show's over. The crowd is happy. Only one model stumbled and the best news is: it wasn't her. Her stylists gather around the perfection that is her body. A beautiful piece of lingerie and wings, that's enough to appoint her most popular model of the night. But that doesn't matter. All that matters is that Brittany will be here in a second. She saw the look on her face while working her second run. She saw the shock and secret smiling that was happening. More importantly, she also saw Susan, enthusiastically pointing at her own ring finger which made it really hard for her not to burst out into hysterical laughter. The job had to be done. Not even her impromptu proposal could alter that. If she changed the way this show ended as well, the fashion designer would've killed her. Well, not really. He'd be mad at her for a good ten minutes, find her piercing, displeased eyes staring at him and end up apologizing instead of her.

She's a total brat about abusing the power from time to time, but something about her scares people. It makes them bow whenever she passes and just give her everything she desires without a single discussion.

But now, she can't think about anything. All that's flashing through her are delayed nerves, late to the party. It's always like that. She keeps up a strong act before going on stage and when it's over, she collapsed. Because things _can_ go wrong. People _can_ think she did a horrible job. It's just that she blocks it out until there's an opportunity to experience all those insecure emotions. Julia walks over to her friend and seems completely cooled down again. For a split second, Santana wonders if she forgot about her thrown-out boyfriend all together. The blonde has her short hair standing up straight now and she's wearing a bathrobe.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

This ritual, where Santana's hands start trembling and her eyes race through the room like she's about to have an epileptic attack is one she recognizes from before. In a non-surprising twist of events, the cancer card makes people worry at all times. It annoys the crap out of Santana, but it's better that someone cares than couldn't care less.

Suddenly, her name reverberates from a corner. When Santana looks up, she finds an overwhelmed Brittany, making her way through a bunch of famous people without looking at them once. Unlike Susan, who creeps up on every model - mouth agape and eyes about to pop out of her head. One of the male stylists draws Santana's attention for a slight second, ordering her to stand still while he unties the back of her wings. When she manages to look up again, Brittany's right in front of her. Her eyes are shinny and emotional, but her lips are smiling softly. Santana's heart stops beating. She just waits, without saying a word, until her girlfriend will start the conversation.

"Yes!" the blonde enthusiastically gloats, answering the unasked question. "A thousand times yes."

The stylists and Julia throw a curious look. Everyone's talking about what happened a few minutes ago. Everyone knows exactly what this is about. But Santana doesn't care about anyone else. She's still too worked up about everything that's happening right now. The biggest weight seems to drop off her shoulders, though, because she relaxes and gets overcome with joy.

"Yes?" she asks, like it's a complete surprise.

Brittany nods excessively and cups the model's cheeks to kiss her fiercely. There are sparks, not just from excitement, but also pride _and_ love _and_ relief _and_ determination.

And they are all merged into one feeling. This indescribable feeling that takes total control of both girls right now. All around them, people start applauding. They've all waited for this.

"You can't tell right now, but I'm really emotional." Santana sighs once Brittany lets go of her.

It's the damn aftermath of the catwalk. The blonde wraps her arms around the love of her life and starts chuckling all amused. Her eyes are teared up as she caresses the Latina's cheek.

"Hi Julia." Brittany suddenly reminds herself to be kind to the woman standing next to her.

Her excitement has prevented her from being invested in anyone else but Santana. Julia kisses her twice and congratulates them both before taking off. The male stylist has managed to release Santana from her wings by now. It's a bit awkward, this whole confession of love in the midst of the crew, but they don't care. All they care about is each other.

"So I guess you'll have to officially move in with me then, huh?" Santana concludes.

She turns around and gestures at her fiancée to unhook her bra. A female member of the crew holds a white towel in front of her cleavage and waits until Santana frees herself from the gorgeous, yet completely uncomfortable piece of lingerie. It's all happening so casually that nobody even notices that she's half naked by now. There's so much noise in this room that Brittany has to raise her voice.

"What are you talking about?"

Her hands lovingly travel down Santana's bare back. The little diamonds are starting to fall off her skin already. After squirming herself in a white bathrobe, the Latina faces her again.

"You know, we're getting married."

Brittany stares at her very nicely decorated finger and experiences a little tingling down her spine after hearing Santana say the words.

"I am aware," she proudly confirms, "but you do know that we've practically been living together since kindergarten, right? I mean, when you left, I had three friends help me get all my stuff out of your house."

Susan is still in the background, making new friends among the famous part of the company. She introduces herself as a dear friend of Santana. The Latina overhears her words, but she's too intrigued and amused by the curvy woman that she allows her to abuse their level of friendship. Besides, she's Brittany's friend. That can never be wrong.

"I know." Santana continues the conversation while remembering the half-empty room she discovered once she returned. "You even took my favorite CD with you."

But Brittany's way too badass to let Santana play around with her: "I _bought_ you that CD."

Her lover holds both hands up to surrender.

"_Anyway_," she resumes, "I want it to be official. Like … I don't know."

A male crew member hands her some clothes she took off earlier. He asks the girls if they want something to drink, but they decline the offer.

"Here …" Brittany suddenly says.

Santana turns around and finds the house key she gave her earlier. It confuses her.

"What?"

"Give it to me. Again." Brittany suggests, romantically.

The gorgeous woman in front of her ignores an incoming call from Rick and takes the little piece of metal in her hand. She then kneels in front of Brittany and contains a straight expression while asking the love of her life to move in with her. Officially this time.

* * *

**I try really hard to update every Friday ... So here's your TGIF-chapter ;)**

**So this was way too cute, right? This is the fun side, this is the careless writing. This is how I dream about Brittana being a super dorky and ridiculously sweet couple. And the second I start writing, it comes so naturally. **

**And what about that proposal, right? Thought it was sweet or rather weird? Let me know ...**

**Will update soon ...**


	13. Alternative plan

**Alternative plan**

_2011_

* * *

There is only one feeling that absorbs her completely. It is pain. Utter pain of constantly throwing up and feeling like her body is under attack. Her muscles and gullet hurt from the constant vomiting. Her essence is gone, her determination is destroyed.

"Oh, God, make it stop." Santana prays to the ceiling while backing away from the tray she just dirtied completely.

She's exhausted and she hasn't even left the bed in days. Her dad is standing nearby, helplessly observing her every move. The warm pajamas she's wearing still aren't enough to stop her from shaking like crazy. It's fever. It's always fever. Her fingers push back the hat that's supposed to cover her bald head.

"I can't throw up anymore. There's nothing left inside of me but I just can't stop." she whispers desperately. "Make it stop."

How the human body works will always be a mystery to her. George walks over to her and takes away the tray to throw it with the other three that are already in the garbage bin. It kills him how nothing he can do will help his little girl feel any better. His fingers caress her forehead.

"The doctor said the drugs take a while to kick in, Santana." he reminds her.

But that's not any good right now. This feeling needs to go away, like, immediately. Of course she knew that it was going to be hard. One of the hardest things she'd ever have to go through. But once it started, it felt like it was too much to handle. Her hair started falling out fast, string after string. She cried a lot when that started showing. Because Santana is a proud woman. Her hair is actually one of the things that made her model career so successful. Her body is her work temple. Now it's being demolished, ripped down to its core. She's just a ghost right now. Santana would kill to be in front of a camera. And to smile. And to swirl her hair.

"Why me, daddy? Why am I sick and not David or Eli? Why not that jerk down the street?"

She doesn't wish the disease upon them. She just wonders, because it all seems unfair to her. George can't answer that, though. He's a brilliant arts teacher, he wins all the awards for his knowledge. But this little question, he can't answer.

"Trust me, Santana, I've been asking myself a lot, lately."

A nurse walks in to check her vitals and for a minute, the room enters a state of silence. Luckily, the nauseous feeling has disappeared. At least for now. Her chemo isn't exactly a success. Doctor De Weerdt, just as brilliant as doctor Brewer and Cullers predicted, is in fact an absolute expert when it comes to her disease. But if only he could just make all of this stop, with a simple pill or an radiation. Santana's body isn't reacting very well to all the bad stuff they keep injecting her with and that worries George immensely.

"David's coming today. He'll be glad to see you." he happily announces, to cheer up the mood.

But Santana isn't so appreciative of company. Part of her is happy that she's in Belgium, simply because it's very far away from everyone that might recognize her. The policy in this hospital is amazing. Apart from the doctors and the nurses, nobody knows she's here. They are required to keep that information to themselves and up until now, it's working. To the rest of the world, she just disappeared. But David's been calling and FaceTiming her every day since she got here. He's worried sick about his little cousin, the oh-so fierce model that can't stand to feel fragile for just one moment.

The truth is, David's always been more than just a cousin to Santana. Apart from Brittany, he's her very best friend. They talk about things Santana can't talk to Brittany about. Like relationship struggles and annoyances that would upset the blonde. Or this hidden cancer debacle. He handles it all so very perfectly. So at ease, while the boy, in fact, terrified.

* * *

David walks in so quietly that it takes a while before Santana notices his presence. She's halfway dozed off to sleep, staring out the window. Belgium's a pretty country, so it seems. There are a remarkable amount of old buildings and castles and if it weren't for the loss of appetite and taste, she'd stuff herself with the delicious food they have here. And beer. Lots and lots of beer in this country.

When she finally recognizes the person standing next to her bed, holding onto fake flowers bought in the souvenir shop, a faint smile appears. Today has been a hard one, David can tell. He bends over to embrace his cousin and whispers a silent hello.

"How are you?" he asks.

He smells like home. Not that she has a fine working scent lately, but he sure does smell like home.

"I've been better." she smirks.

"I bought you flowers. I heard you can't actually keep them in your room, so I asked for fake ones."

Santana appreciates the gesture: "That's remarkably sweet of you."

David lays them on the nearby mobile cabinet. She asks him to help her sit up straight and he does. It shocks him to see her this weak. Her muscles tremble as she repositioning herself.

The room isn't really welcoming. It's a hospital room, just like they come in America. But George hung up some pictures of the family to help her remind of the things waiting for her back home. Brittany's not one of them.

"Just flew in?" Santana asks, with just enough words to not exhaust herself further.

He nods. The boy came straight from the airport to see her.

"You look surprisingly good. Apart from the grey skin color and the puffy eyes, I'd say you could pass for a famous model."

She coughs and smiles. The charmer. She's not feeling like a supermodel right now, though. She feels like a wreck, that hasn't realized it's dead yet.

"Dad went to the house to get changed for some guest lecture about Picasso this evening. He's looking forward to it. I'm glad."

"Takes his mind off of things, right?"

Santana nods.

"And you, what do you do to keep yourself entertained?" he wonders.

He's seated on the bed now, right next to her. Secretive eyes lurk at the red hat she's wearing. It's covering up a lot, but not enough to make it visible that all her beautiful, dark hair is gone. Even her charismatic flair, so natural to her, seems fainted.

"I puke a lot. Perfected that art." she jokes softly. "And I read a lot of fashion blogs when I'm not too nauseous. Or I FaceTime with annoying boys in America."

David can't help but realizing just how brave she is. How she takes this cancer and kicks the living shit out of it, even though she's enduring a couple of punches herself. It makes him way too emotional to keep up the act of supportive rock for too long.

They talk about things back home. About the graduation ceremony Santana missed. How David proudly waved his diploma in the air. Santana graduated as well, George and the school sorted something out actually. She just couldn't attend, due to lying in a hospital bed all day, somewhere across the world. But o matter what the cousins talk about, they are careful enough to not mention Brittany. It's like knowing about her frightens Santana. Like it would completely tear her down to hear just how mad and sad Brittany just might be. Or even worse: how happy. That'd actually kill her.

Out of nowhere, she starts crying. Because thinking about it again does that to her. When she got on that plane, she shed tears for hours thinking about what she was leaving behind. Luckily, a hard reality check was waiting for her when she got off and checked into the hospital. See, chemotherapy has an effect on people: you don't get a second to brace yourself. You get smashed by it. It all depends on how badly you react to it. Sadly, Santana got the worst kind.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt?" David ask all concerned.

He quickly checks if he's not sitting on a tube or something. But Santana shakes her head softly and sobs in a childish way.

"I'm sorry, I'm just really emotional since I started treatment."

He understands. Of course he does. His warm hands cup her palms. She looks so sick, she feels so unnaturally cold and simply exhales her disease. He doesn't recognize her at all.

"You're not feeling very warm for someone who's having a fever." he tells her.

"I haven't felt warm in months." she confesses.

Her stay over here takes longer than anyone anticipated. Soon after her first round of a light version of chemo, she had to check back in for a new one. A heavier one. Ever since she set foot in this hospital, shivers have been running up and down her spine. She feels cold, all the time. She's shaking and trembling like it's freezing. Except it's not. Belgian winters aren't that cold. And it's pretty warm in this room. David even took off his hoodie a minute ago.

"How is she?" Santana suddenly utters hesitantly, completely blocking all her motives not to.

David looks up to her and feels his heart racing.

"She's okay." he tells her, hoping it'll assure her.

This can only be about one person. They both know exactly who it is. No confusion possible. But hearing she's okay brings a lot of confusing feelings to Santana's troubled mind.

"I only ever feel warm when I'm around her, you know. I'm the kind of girl that turns up the heating a bit, just to make sure I won't get cold. But when I was around her, I never was."

David heaves a frustrated sigh and nods.

"And when are you planning to get back? You have to return at some point, no?"

His cousin turns her exhausted eyes away from him and starts staring out of the window again.

"I don't know, David. I've started to realize what a dick move I pulled on her. Lying in bed all day makes your brain start working."

She heaves an all-consuming sigh and bites her painful teeth for a while. Life's so screwed up right now, there aren't even words for it. They face each other again.

"You know, I lie here, crying like a little girl and puking my guts out and … sometimes that's a nice distraction."

David frowns his confusion away and remains silent.

"It's weird, but it keeps my mind off her." the girl explains. "I can't drive myself crazy thinking about who's she's kissing right now. Or whether or not she's thinking of me."

But David shakes his head and tries to remind her of the important things in this room: "Santana, all you have to do right now is get better. Everything will be fine after that."

But the fright and genuine desperation flashing from her expression shakes him up.

"It won't, David. I'm smart enough to realize when I screw things up."

"Santana …" he sighs.

"No. It's okay. As long as she's happy, she can hate me all she want."

It's true. Through Brittany's eyes, she must be the most horrible person in the world. Maybe she is.

"There's always a way to make things right." David claims.

But he's wrong. Not everything is a fairytale. Not to Santana.

"At best, I'll have to stay her for another year. Monitoring, actually defeating this monster, check-ups, …" she starts explaining. "After that, who knows."

"Promise me you'll come back home, please." her cousin pleads with anxious green eyes.

He can't imagine never seeing his best friend again. In fact, he's just as lost without her back home as Santana is here, without Brittany.

"I promise." she softly whispers.

But she's not sure if that's the truth. Going back home scares her more than death itself.

* * *

After another decent throwing up, Santana has faded off to sleep. This chemotherapy is demanding a lot of her energy. The poison they inject you with not only destroys the bad cancer cells, it also targets the good that's left inside of you. After a while, you start balancing between life and death. And hours and days just become blurry moments.

George walks into the room and his face lights up the second he recognizes his nephew. They hug it out for a minute and David tells him how much the rest of the family misses their metaphorical lost limbs.

"You look good, boy." George decides.

David nods appreciative and sits down on one of the red chairs next to the little white table across Santana's bed.

"How is life after high school?"

His nephew shrugs, which makes his curly hair wiggle and pulls a weird face.

"College isn't that great, but I have to get my journalism degree."

His uncle knows the true desire of the young man in front of him: making money by traveling and blogging about the food. One of the reasons why David was so excited to visit his sick cousin, was to taste Belgium's finest goods. They have amazing chocolate in this country, an waffles and french fries the Americans can only dream of. Some of the best restaurants in the world are located here. It's food heaven. And beer heaven.

"I'm trying to get an internship into a newspaper company, so I can write about the culinary things." he elaborates.

George promises to ask around in the world of influential people. That makes David smile appreciative. Uncle George has always had his back.

Santana seems to be having some kind of bad dream, because she starts to make growling noises. Maybe it's just the sick feeling that lingers over her. George joyful expression fades instantly. He's been her every free second, watching over her, like it'd matter.

"Look at her. Ironic, isn't it?" David whispers, hoping it'll keep her fast asleep. "She's a world famous model. Everyone's dying to know her."

George nods and sighs: "And she's literally just dying to live."

The two men look at each other for a second before turning their heads back towards the bed. She looks so skinny, so pale. It's like she's a ghost. This is the most beautiful person in the world to them. She makes money by people staring at her. And now she's nothing more than some bones and fainted muscles.

The older man gets up on his feet and silently takes a hard cover notebook off Santana's night stand. He hands it over to David and softly smiles.

"I'm not supposed to go through her stuff, but it fell open the other day when I was cleaning up the tissues and bottles of water." he excuses himself.

David flips open the notebook. The first few pages are just drafts about fashion things, like a catwalk she watched to support her famous friends. Next, his eyes stumble upon a short list. It's the things she's dreaming about doing someday, when she gets out of here. She literally calls it her bucket list. Santana's bucket list.

_Get arrested once_

_Kiss in the rain_

_Get a puppy_

_Have a threesome_

_Get married_

_Milk a cow_

_Get a tattoo_

_Die in the arms of the one I love_

George is standing behind him right now and leans over his shoulder to have a look.

"Weird list." David smiles while reading it once again.

"Weird girl." George assures him.

David's fingers stroke the imprints the pen left. Like he's remembering the way she writes. The next page shuts him up, though. It's all pictures of Brittany and Santana, glued to the paper. In some of them, they look like perfect angels, barely six years old. In others, they hold each other's hand or kiss. This book is meant to remain a secret to everyone else around, that much is clear. Santana isn't keen on letting people in when it concerns her feelings. Except Brittany. Brittany holds the only key to that private room.

"She calls them AA-meetings." George tells his nephew, while pointing at a description Santana obviously wrote near one of them. "Not sure what it means, but when she's at her worst, they calm her down."

David knows exactly what it means, though. He took that picture of them when they were absorbed into their own dimension for a millionth time. The girls could act like they ignored you while they were sitting right next to you. Except it wasn't intentional. They actually just forgot about the rest of the world once they started looking into each other's eyes or had one of their private conversations. They breathed each other and, not once, they needed another person. Secretive, anonymous to the others, meant for addicts. AA-meetings.

The memories suddenly stir up a lot of emotions inside of David. Remembering just how happy a simple smile from Brittany could make her, upsets him incredibly. And now she's here, hoping that being away from Brittany will protect the blonde from the bad things in this world and he's not okay with that.

"Uncle. If for some reason she won't … she won't make it, you'll have to let me call Brittany." he utters, too afraid to hear the effect of the words.

George turns his head to his daughter again and puts his hand on David's shoulder.

"I already have her number on speed dial, son."

* * *

It's pretty cold for San Francisco. Normally, you'd catch a warm breeze around this time of year, but for some reason, when Eli arrives in town, the weather decides to tone it down a notch. The nervous boy is standing in front of one of the most impressive universities in the world. Stanford. It's very green out here. The massive, impressive buildings are surrounded by fields and the architecture of this place reminds him of a church.

While checking his watch every five seconds, he patiently awaits the arrival of his good friend, Brittany. Though they never really hung out a lot, Eli keeps her in high esteem. She's kind, she's sweet, she's unbelievably beautiful. And though their interests never really matched, she always tried to have a decent conversation with him. One time, she challenged him to a game of Counterstrike. She lost. Obviously.

His hair is nicely combed back. Except for the little grey spot, that keeps living its own life, despite the use of gel and wax. It's the first time they'll see each other ever since Brittany started studying here. They didn't really keep in touch. In fact, the second Santana left without any explanation, Brittany refrained from spending all her days at the house, which was to be expected. Eli missed her. A lot actually. Now he's about to change that.

The second his name reverberates, he recognizes the voice. It's her. With an impressive twirl, he faces her and her genuinely happy smile warms his heart. Santana was like a sister to Eli. She's gone now. Brittany was joined to her hip, that made her a sister as well.

She runs over to him and throws herself in his arms. They hug for a while and express their excitement about seeing each other again. For a devoted gamer, this boy sure does like to come out once in a while.

"You look great, Mouse." Brittany tells him while rubbing his hair.

Her blonde hair is slightly shorter. He has done some research about girls getting over a breakup, sort of to prepare himself for spontaneous outburst of tears and sorts. Cutting hair is one of the coping mechanisms, but that's just a girl thing he'll probably never understand. His friend looks skinny and tired. But, that doesn't change the fact that she's gorgeous.

"You look pretty as always." he compliments her.

She heaves a relieved sigh and presses both hands in her waist: "Mouse!"

He giggles. Clearly, she can't believe he's actually here. Her hand grabs the sleeve of his brown vest and he gets dragged along to a nearby building across the road of the university. It are dorm rooms, something he never set foot in before.

"This is impressive, Brittany." he tells her.

She knows. Even after spending a few months here, she gets surprised every single time the realization of where she's at hits her.

"How are the classes?"

She sighs and gives away the reason why she looks so tired: "Hard. Like, really, really hard. But they are amazing. The things they teach you here. The equipment you get to use. It's magical."

"No," Eli amusingly corrects her, "it's Stanford."

They both laugh as Brittany opens the door of her room and walks in first. In the left corner, Eli recognizes her favorite stuff, nicely organized on cabinets and night stands. In the right corner, a bomb might have exploded. Clearly, her roommate isn't the tidiest person in the world. It could've easily been Santana's.

"I sleep with June. He name sounds a lot nicer than she is in real life." Brittany explains. "Anyway, ready for lunch?"

She acts so natural around him. Like nothing has happened. But so much has happened. She seemingly walked away just as easily as Santana did. After the love of her life disappeared for reasons that are unclear to her, her visits abruptly stopped. At school, she distanced herself more and more from the boys that had been like brothers all her life. Aaron and granddad never actually saw her again. Truth is, it was too hard on her. Thinking about Santana made her cry uncontrollably the first couple of weeks. She fell asleep on a wet pillow and woke up in a fetal position in the morning because her dreams always made her believe someone was holding her at night. It had been the most horrible months of her life. All she did was study and focus on the drama class. Anything to take her mind off of Santana. That's hard, given the fact that her face popped up in every magazine and on every billboard in town. That summer, she went traveling in Mexico, with Jules and Katy, two girls just as confused about Santana's disappearance. By the time she was about to start her first year in Stanford, Brittany felt relieved. Because this was an actual break from her reality. This was going away and never having to look back. There was so much work to be done that it absorbed every free minute of her time. And that was perfect to deal with the memories and the pain.

Eli, on other hand, knew the truth. He knew that Santana was sick and that she went away thinking that she could shield her girlfriend from the agonizing months that were to come. He also knew that Brittany was left in the dark and he was ordered to keep it that way.

She had pleaded time after time at first, almost down on her knees - begging the boys to tell her where Santana was. They didn't exactly lie to her, they just told her she was in Europe, working on her future. Apart form that, there wasn't a lot of information they possessed. Santana completely shut everyone off, even her family. George told them most of the progress or setbacks of her disease. In a way, it was easier for Eli and David not to break around a clearly devastated Brittany. But seeing her like that, that was horrible.

Eli heaves a sigh to clear the memories and reminds himself how great she's doing here. His favorite girl in the world got into Stanford. That's all kinds of awesome.

"Let's get some food." he proposes.

It was the initial plan anyway. He leaves all the planning and directions to Brittany. Something tells him he wouldn't even find his way back to the airport anymore. Not that it's so complicated. He's just not good at exploring new places.

They end up in a nice, cosy restaurant a couple of blocks away. Students hang out here a lot, so it seems. The normal conversations happen. The family gets discussed, Eli's progress at school - or lack of. Brittany goes on and on about life at university. How it's so very different than high school. How everyone around her is passionate to succeed, because they all fought hard to get here. They all aspire the same goals. It's the best thing that's ever happened to her, she says.

That makes Eli smile softly. Maybe Santana's plan had some flaws, but by the looks of it, this part turned out right.

After a short break from talking, he notices how the suddenly quiet Brittany plays around with her fork. Talking about high school brought her back to the past. She doesn't like thinking about that part of her life. At the moment, she can't afford to think about anything else but the future. It's the only thing that brings her hope. The one thing that keeps her going.

"How's Santana." she suddenly dares to ask anyway.

Eli swallows down his piece of meat and looks at her. It's painful to hide the truth from her. But it's not up to him.

"She's good." he lies.

She's lying in a hospital bed, puking her guts out twenty four seven and is bald, is what's really happening. But he can't say that.

"Too bad." Brittany scoffs, obviously embittered over the break up.

Eli sighs and puts down his cutlery momentarily. The grey stroke of hair reflects in the bright lighting in this place.

"You keep up a tough act when it's about her." he notices.

It's not that she is angry. No, she skipped angry and every time Santana's face or memory invades, she gets overwhelmed by feelings of utter disgust. Because that's easier than missing her so hard. Being furious at her softens the pain. She can't even help it. And if Eli was to ask whether she still loves her or not, it'd be hard to give an honest answer.

"She's drugs." Brittany explains to him, like she's thought about it before. "I was addicted from the second I tasted her. And I can't find it again."

It sounds so grown up, even for her. She could put it in a movie, it'd make a great line.

"So you're telling me you're an addict?" Eli tries to lighten up the mood.

But Brittany's not into joking when it comes to the girl that broke her heart: "And she's toxic."

No, Santana didn't just break her heart. She took it with her. And Brittany has no idea where it is. She gets happy sometimes, when her friends cheer her up or when a paper gets graded positively. But something's missing. That part that makes your heart jump out of excitement - that makes the feeling even better. That part that makes you care just a little bit more. That's the part Santana ignited inside of her. And now it's gone.

* * *

A week later, Eli's talking to the other part of the infamous twin. It's FaceTime-time. Eli can't go to Belgium. He has to be at school. And it's not like you fly over there for a couple of days. So they use the technology at its best. Whenever he has a free minute, he buzzes in. Santana answers the call most of the time, but when she's feeling too bad, she declines. Eli gets that.

His joyful brown eyes stare at her face on his screen. She looks better than she did a couple of days ago.

"Where have you been, Mouse?" Santana teases him over the lack of contact they've had this week.

Eli hates that he has to lie to one person, so Santana will never be the second one.

"I went to San Francisco." he summarizes.

She soon figures out why. He notices: her face freezes. You can't fool HD technology. She stares back at him, while she's comfortably sitting up straight in her hospital bed. Today, she didn't throw up once. And for cancer patients, that is a thing to be proud of.

"Well, I'm doing better. Tomorrow, the results or my second round of chemo are in. I hope the values are relatively positive. That'll make all of this a lot easier."

But Eli's only hearing a lot of cover-up-bullshit. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. That shuts up his cousin immediately.

"Don't you want to know about Brittany?"

She stares at him, then licks her lower lip. Something tells her she shouldn't. That's why she didn't ask, obviously.

"Depends on what you will tell me about her." she answers in all honesty.

Eli smiles over this whole stage play where they block all the information out for the protagonists.

"I'm supposed to tell you she's fine." he mysteriously admits.

That's what everyone keeps telling him. Poor sick Santana can't handle the truth right now. The reality about the depressed, sad Brittany might set back her healing process. Because in order to fight and defeat cancer, you need to be strong mentally. But even by lying, Santana is smart enough to know Brittany isn't exactly roaming the parties while throwing rainbows around.

"Eli." Santana makes clear with a teasing voice. "You can't lie to a cancer patient. Please, tell me the truth."

Her cousin pats his lap and sighs, ready to give in. His room is dark, that hides a part of his concerned face.

"She's a mess." he admits, only to see Santana's face waste away to a bundle of regret. "Really fucking angry at you. But how are you?"

Santana refrains from talking for a while and swallows away the tears that are about to explode outside of her. She knew David was lying, but it secretly helped that she could never be entirely certain.

"Close to dying." she ultimately answers. "I'll get over it. Tell me about her."

Eli has started something and now she can't stop. Somewhere deep inside, he was aware it would happen.

"Should I? You don't seem to like talking about her."

But Santana nods. She uses her sleeve wipe her eyes dry. Even over an internet connection, Eli recognizes her sad face.

"I think about her when I wake up and when I go to sleep. And all the seconds in between. I don't need more encouragement. But I can't help but ask." she tells him.

"When you left," Eli starts off, while tightly holding on to the desk his laptop is situated on, "she woke up and walked downstairs. There was nothing weird about the way she woke up, you see. You weren't there and she assumed that you were downstairs already. But you left us with the shit job of explaining what was happening. Only, we had to lie, bend the truth in a way that you could never be the good guy in this story."

Santana forgets to breathe for a while. Her eyes lower to her trembling hands. His words nearly kill her. But she has to learn the events that took place after she left.

"She cried for weeks, you know. She packed up her stuff with some friends and never returned. Granddad misses her like crazy. So do I, that's why I visited her this weekend."

He almost smiles over the memory of seeing her again.

"She has shorter hair now. It looks great. But everything looks great on Brittany, right?"

Santana painfully smiles. Her eyes are puffy and her heart is racing. The level of jealousness hits her hard. Jealousness that he got to see her and she didn't.

"Worst part is that after a week or so, people started to understand that you wouldn't be coming back soon. They all stared at her at school. She was lost without you. I tried to help, so did David, but being around us probably hurt more than being alone."

Santana's left hand is now covering her dripping nose. She grabs a tissue and wipes it clean. Her eyes are swollen, but the tears aren't streaming down her cheeks yet. She won't let them.

"To everyone around here, you took off to launch your career. Uncle George is teaching in Belgium and you're close to London to make things happen."

It's the cover story. It's the one they came up with together.

"She can't know I'm sick, Eli." Santana eventually tells him.

It's the most important goal in this entire journey to her. He nods and sighs away his frustration.

"I know. That's why the last part is important to hear as well. She picked up the pieces and went to Stanford. And Santana, she's so happy to be there. I saw a couple of her projects, they are amazing. She's so talented, it's surreal."

Finally something that makes her feel less heartbroken. Santana smiles softly.

"And how does she feel about me? Does she still love me?" she wants to know.

Part of her knows this won't turn out to be a hopeful answer. But she has to try.

"She's really mad at you, Santana." he reminds her. "She doesn't even really want to talk about you."

"But you did?" Santana intrudes him.

Her face looks kind of funny from this angle, but he's not laughing.

"Just once. She hates to be reminded of you."

He won't tell her the entire story. Eli had tried to smoothen the path for his cousin. When the conversation in the restaurant evolved, he cryptically told Brittany that however bad their breakup was, everything happened for a reason. And that one day, she would make up for it. But the bitterness that had taken control of the ever so sweet Brittany was too strong. She didn't believe him. In fact, she told him that she hoped Santana would burn in hell for what she did to her. Clearly, she was completely overcome by her emotions.

"I'm sorry." Eli tells his cousin.

"Don't be. I did this to myself. I have to live with this."

But apart from all the girlfriend drama, there's obviously this thing called cancer that Santana should pay a lot more attention to. Defeating these demonic cells really don't depend on whether or not Brittany is feeling happy or sad, it's about determination and believing in the end result.

"Santana, stop. You need to stop." he orders her through the webcam. "Think about yourself for a change. This Brittany thing is tragic. It really is. But trust me, you are tragic on a whole other level. You need to focus on getting better. You have cancer, for God's sake. Fight this bitch before you start worrying about anything else. Forget about this teenage romance for a while. She has, too."

Though she's really getting the message, Santana can't help but ridiculing it with a soft, sick smile.

"I love her, Eli. That's where it begins. That's where it'll end."

Sadly, it's not just that simple. He knows that. She knows that.

"You'll have to come up with a great excuse to make up for what you did. You can't just solve this with a silent smile." he tells her. "No matter how cute yours is."

But Santana is confused and frowns: "What the hell is a silent smile?"

Eli throws his hands up, like she's asking him to explain a completely ordinary thing.

"A smile when you're silent."

His cousin starts laughing and that warms his heart.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was just calling that a _smile_." she mocks his choice of words.

Eli's unimpressed, though, and crosses his arms defensively.

"Look at you, half dead from chemo and still sassy as fuck."

"I live for it." she ironically clarifies.

The door of her hospital room opens and a few nurses walk in. That's Eli's cue to leave the conversation.

"I have to go, Mouse. I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

He nods.

"Take care of yourself, Santana. See you tomorrow."

She smiles and waves at him. The nurses are standing next to her and the cute blonde one waves at him as well. That's Santana's favorite.

The laptop closes and she puts it aside. They're here to check her vitals. They do that all the time, actually. Sometimes it's annoying. Santana gets along with most of the nurses. The majority is still very young and secretly taking care of a supermodel kind of intrigues them.

Surprisingly, in Belgium, they all speak English like it's their second nature. She's in the part where the population speak Flemish. An hour drive from here you end up in the place where they talk a weird derivative of French. They call it Walloon.

As the nurses close the door behind them, Santana is left with nothing but the words Eli just told her. So it's real now: Brittany might really hate her. Indefinitely in the worst case. She looks at the pieces of the room she's in, at the medical equipment next to her and attached to her skin.

Maybe it is too late to go back. Maybe she will never forgive her for what she did. But maybe all she needs is time. A lot of time to get over her feelings. A couple of months, some distance, some defining moments that - for a change - don't include Santana Lopez. After all the pain she caused, Santana should probably grant her that.

* * *

**So, someone (ahum - StephaniieC) asked me for a surprise Birthday update ... Here you have it ;) I hope you enjoy it. **

**Might not be the most romantic or fluffy chapter, but it's important to make the story work.**

**Hope you all like it!**

**Let me know what you think of it.**


	14. Apex

**Apex**

_2015_

* * *

The second they left the catwalk event, hell broke loose. Santana never really confirmed her relationship with the lovely Brittany that always followed her around. There were rumors and speculation - not to mention the countless pictures of them hanging out together - but Santana never sat down in front of the camera and confirmed them. Throwing her an engagement ring in the middle of a fashion show clearly did the trick. All the fans' suspicious were suddenly true.

On the way to their car, three security men have to fight off interviewers and paparazzi. It's crazy. It is suffocating. Brittany holds onto Santana hand tight, like she's afraid she'll lose her in all the spectacle. These men scare her in a weird way. They get so close that it's hard to see which direction to go. But Santana's touch makes her feel safe. It guides her to the safe place of the SUV that's waiting for them. Santana smiles proudly during those long, slow seconds it takes them to get there. Why wouldn't she? She just go engaged!

Everyone around her is screaming at her, throwing questions in the air like she has all the time in the world to answer them. Rick called and ordered her not to say a word, just a few minutes ago. The public announcement will be organized later. For now, the paparazzi just has to sit this one out impatiently.

And now they are in the car. A driver has hit the gas so aggressively that they shook off all the nosy cameras and photographers in no time. Brittany can breathe again.

"Oh, God. I hope someone will write about the catwalk show tomorrow." Santana utters with an expression of anxiety.

Brittany looks at her and frowns. Her hand is still holding Santana's.

"I mean the clothes and the designs." Santana elaborates. "Not just you and I. The designer will kill me if that happens."

Her lovely blonde giggles and then stares at her new piece of jewelry. The ring is gorgeous. It sparkles in the daylight. And it sparkles in her heart.

"I had my concern about you being out and proud." she admits a few second after reminder herself to breathe. "But this is quite epic."

"What do you mean?"

The Latina is utterly confused. She has dragged her lover along to every single event she could possibly think of. They attended fashion shows and went on holidays where they let the paparazzi shoot pictures of them from a distance. She held her hand on the red carpets. And she always left with her in the same car. Not even the most public couples of the industry do that.

"I don't know." Brittany tells her, weirdly biting her lower lip. "You never really did anything to make me feel like I wasn't your girlfriend. It's just that you never really did anything to prove I was."

Santana frowns amusingly and enlightens her fascinatingly smug face. Is Brittany kidding? How has she never said anything about this before?

"I'm sorry I have never fucked you in public." she snorts.

The driver suddenly looks at them in the rear-view mirror and suppresses a smile. Of course he heard. Drivers are like waiters and personal assistants. They hear everything and pretend that they don't. And everyone is happy with that arrangement.

"You know I love you, right? And I may have never publicly talked about us, but that's just because I never talk about anything personal. I like that part of my life to remain the last bit the press has to work hard for, because it's not okay to be exposed like that."

Brittany sort of understands. It's just that, even before they got back together, Santana's love life has in fact always been a speculation. There were never coming out stories or statements. Most of the paparazzi pictures were the supermodel hanging out with another famous person. Men and women. Her romantic interests were implied, but never confirmed. And a lot of them involved men. Friends, of course. But no one really knew.

Santana's eyes find those of her lover and she heaves a dreamy sigh: "I never came out, you're right about that. Because there wasn't anything to come out at all. I haven't had a boyfriend since forever. But I haven't had a girlfriend either. I had flings and hookups and sex buddies. But there was never anyone to sleep in my bed for longer than three nights. So the press couldn't pick up on it. I was everywhere, all around the world, and whoever passed my hotel room, they were welcome to walk in. It didn't mean anything. Because neither of those girls were you. And they knew that."

Despite the overly gloat over her previous sexual hookups, Brittany thinks Santana's words are really sweet. She can see it all happening in front of her: Santana having casual sex with strangers or friends, just to kick them out in the morning. It probably even happened without her lifting her head from the pillow.

"And I walked around with them, you know. I strolled the streets, went out for dinner, attended parties as their dates. The press just never got the hint, simply because we never acted in love. Because weren't. Until now. Now I hang out with just one girl. I hold her hand in public, I buy her coffee, I hold her bag and on rare occasions, they see me kissing her cheek lovingly. They are starting to get the hint."

She suggestively wiggles her eyebrows and starts smirking in a ridiculous way. Brittany holds up their entwined hands to kiss the Latina's slim fingers.

"And now I've dropped the bomb and the world needs an explanation." Santana rolls her eyes after first lovingly looking over at the gesture of affection.

"Like an interview?"

The model nods: "Tomorrow I'm expected to join Keith Gordon on his talk show."

Brittany's eyes grow big and an excited expression colors her face.

"Keith Gordon? Oh, my God!" she shrieks while they are just moments away from home. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Santana shrugs and acts like it's just another day of work. Well, to her it is.

"He's just a guy. Not even that funny in real life. And he asks the most annoying questions while you are supposed to sit there and put your fake celebrity face on. You know, the one where you smile over stupid comments and refrain yourself from killing the idiot by dramatically laughing."

Her fiancée presses her lips tightly together and nods agreeingly: "Yeah, you're good at that."

The driver suppresses another silent smirk and turns left. A few seconds later, they try to get out of the car, but the photographers have now gathered around the entrance of the apartment building.

"_Santana__, __Santana__, is this your girlfriend?__"_

"_Where did you meet?__"_

Hundreds of flashes blind the girls like never before. The strangers with cameras get in their faces until it's getting impossible to move forward. The driver gets out of the car as well and starts yelling at them to back off. His strong arms push the first few intruders aside, much to their displeasure.

"_Are you going to get married?__"_

"_Since when are you gay?__"_

"_How long have you been dating?__"_

Brittany pushes the men back as she's getting closer to the front door. Just a few more yards. Santana holds onto her hand tightly. How can these parasites, that dig through your garbage, your past, your dirty little secrets, have no idea that Brittany Pierce is the love of her life? How have they not talked to old classmates and neighbors? How do they interpret holding hands and going on dates as being casual best friends? Should she have been wearing a shirt that said 'I am in love with Brittany'? Are people that oblivious these days? Or are girls holding hands and being super cute around each other just a normality recently?

After escaping the madness, both girls remains panting in the hallway for a while. Residents of the apartment building are staring at them, throwing judging looks. Ever since the fashion show ended, theses poor people had a hard time entering and leaving their own homes. Santana doesn't look up to them, sort of too ashamed to even say sorry. It's not her fault. It's these damn paparazzi fuckers.

"So, that was … intense." Brittany stutters, while walking over to the elevator.

Santana nods and follows her footsteps. Her heart is still racing. One thing's for sure: the newspapers will be full of this by tomorrow. And this entire hysteria won't fade soon.

"That was _insane_. I have to call Rick."

* * *

"So keep a straight face, answer the questions like we practiced them and - I'm serious, Santana - don't do _anything_ stupid."

Rick stares at her with an expression of terror. Because if there's anything Santana is capable of, it's doing something stupid. He holds the door for her while they approach the television studios. A security man and two assistants are following their every move. It's been less than twenty four hours and people are still going crazy about the news of Santana Lopez's lesbian engagement. Yes, it's the lesbian part that excites them most. Her loyal fans all knew exactly what was going on. The big newspapers just couldn't really print anything about it, because the necessary confirmation never took place.

"I'm supposed to talk about Victoria's Secret's new collection today." she mumbles while hiding her face in the big coat she's wearing, eyes professionally hidden behind enormous sunglasses.

Rick has his hand on her sleeve and directs her to the nearby entrance. Luckily for them, the photographers can't cross the fence in front of the building. It's where they let you pass when you're on the guest list or carry a famous face. As it turns out, Santana looks kind of famous. Plus, she's on the list.

"There won't be much talk about your angel wings today, my dear." Rick scoffs amusingly while pressing the elevator button. "I give it three questions before he slips in the engagement thing."

Santana squints annoyingly and pats his shoulder: "Some excitement about this engagement thing wouldn't be terrible."

She knows he doesn't really mean it, it's just that Santana's public gesture of love kind of gave him a lack of good night's sleep. His wife wasn't happy. Not that Santana had her required beauty sleep as well. Brittany nearly wrecked her after they came home. You know, to celebrate being fiancées.

Keith Gordon walks over to them the second they reach the floor where his talk show is being recorded. Santana heaves a big sigh, because it'll take a lot of her to be nice today. Keith isn't the man you want to run into every day. She has no idea why America is crazy about him. He's middle-aged. He's boring. His grey hair looks terrible. His Southern accent is ridiculous. Seriously, he's not even trying to sound like he had proper training. How is Santana supposed to be interested in anything but a hot woman asking her awkward questions?

"Welcome." he tells the gang. "I'll walk you to your dressing room, Santana. Follow me, follow me."

She shakes his hand and fakes a smile. Rick is very proud of her. Here comes the rehearsals, here comes the makeup and styling. It'll take a while, but at least Brittany will be here at some point. She promised. Santana yawns, due to the lack of sleep, and barely listens to anything Keith Gordon has to say. It's mostly about his show last night and the guests in it. She just wants to doze off in her makeup chair and being woken up when it's time to hit the stage.

* * *

The lights go on and the commercial break is over. The crowd starts applauding enthusiastically as Santana waves at them while the camera zooms back in on the duo. Her hair is up in a high dot and the Latina is loving the look. She's wearing a loose, black dress with a silver belt to break the color. Her high heels are a lot more comfortable than they seem.

Keith has been asking work-related questions so far. There were three and Santana took all the time in the world to elaborate about them so she could stretch time. Being a Victoria Secret's Angel has quite some requirements. There's a lot of press and promoting involved. She doesn't mind. She loves the pressure of it, even though - at times - it's hard to combine the rest of her career with the obligations.

The host welcomes everyone back to the show and thanks them for tuning in. Santana is silently telling herself how proud she is for not mocking his accent once in this last half hour. Afterwards, she's realizing how much her cheeks are starting to hurt from faking laughter. Seriously, models don't ever laugh this much. They just stare into the camera all seductive or angry. Plus, too much laughter causes wrinkles.

"So we're back with America's most gorgeous supermodel Santana Lopez." Keith enthusiastically announces.

The crowd goes wild and for a second, Santana's hearing is paralyzed. The fans love her. And she loves that they love her. She humbly bows her head and can't help from laughing all embarrassed.

"So, Santana, we've been talking about work and being an angel."

Santana is so trained at this, she might walk straight out a commercial.

"Yes, Keith." she politely confirms, while tapping his hand. They are both seated on some comfy chairs, facing each other. The decor is cosy and warm. But kind of old.

"It's time to move on to the other thing, isn't it? That thing that happened yesterday. That thing everyone is talking about."

He emphasizes the word 'thing' so dramatically that the crowd starts laughing. Santana rolls her eyes to ridicule him in an acceptable way and suddenly finds herself blushing.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." she claims, while closing her eyes.

Of course everyone knows she's just playing them.

"Well, I don't see a ring around your finger, but rumor has it you proposed to your girlfriend yesterday while you were doing your run on the catwalk?" he teases her.

His eyes expressively grow wide as the massive screen behind them suddenly shows a press picture of that exact same moment. You can see Santana's majestical attitude and top notch performance on the stage, while Brittany's staring at her own hands - and that little teddy bear - with an expression of shock. Everyone around starts wooing and cheering with pride and joy. Santana quickly turns her head to check it out and recognizes the image immediately. These pictures have been circulating the internet for hours now. They popped up on Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, massive news sites, … Her left leg is wiggling back and fort, crossed over her right one.

"Oh, that little thingy." she playfully admits. "Yeah …"

She suddenly pulls a weird, awkward face and shrugs innocently. Her fingers are nervously tapping the side of her chair.

"Yeah." she repeats while facing Keith again and hiding her obvious smile.

"Yeah … That happened." she finally acknowledges, all adorable and stuff.

Keith Gordon seems genuinely amused. His eyes sparkle as he carefully analyzes the supermodel's behavior. All of a sudden, she start liking him.

"Yeah. It's not really … subtle, is it?" he jokes.

Santana shakes her head and turns to the crowd. She apologetically throws her hands up in the air and shrugs. They laugh.

"So, you are engaged now?"

"Yes." Santana proudly nods, completely shifting her attitude in a matter of seconds.

She throws an excited expression to the crowd and it's incredible to witness how they lose their shit over her funny face.

"And is your fiancée here right now?"

"She had to work. But she did promise to drop by if she had the change. It's not that far away from here, actually."

Keith acts all offended and frowns: "Your mystery girl rather goes to work than do an interview? With me?"

It sound so arrogant that Santana almost wants to start following him on Twitter.

"My _mystery girl_ is a very talented editor. If she doesn't go to work, many fans of television shows will be sad. They'll cry. And in the end, they'll all blame you." she teases him.

A little, collective chuckle roams the room. Keith admits to his mistake and readjusts the little question cards on his lap. It's started. The thing everyone is dying to hear - the questions about Brittany and their relationship. Rick was right. It took him three questions.

"What's her name?" Keith wonders.

Like he doesn't know that yet.

"Brittany. Her name is Brittany." Santana answers, with a big smile.

"That's a pretty nice name." he comments.

Santana shrugs: "Well, she is a pretty nice girl."

He wiggles his eyes suggestively and she finds herself slightly embarrassed.

"Aren't we supposed to talk about work, or something?" she giggles.

The faking part has completely disappeared. This conversation has her acting like a teenage girl and it's awkward as fuck to her. Tough and mysterious Santana Lopez has left the room and this new version is scaring the shit out of her.

"Are you kidding me, nobody want to hear about clothes when we have this to talk about?"

The crowd loudly agrees.

"But, truthfully, she seems to have popped up out of nowhere. You've been very preserved for years now. No one has ever really seen you with a girlfriend or a boyfriend."

"There never were any boyfriends." Santana informs him.

"So you're telling me you're gay?"

"As gay as a daffodil, my dear." she quotes Freddy Mercury.

"So, no boyfriends." he hums sort of to express a sensation of sadness.

"No girlfriends either, actually. Just Brittany." she shyly admits.

He curiously crosses his legs and leans on one of his elbows to bend over to the supermodel sitting next to him.

"Okay, but … one second the two of you are spotted downtown. The next we learn you share an apartment. And suddenly, at a fashion show, you propose to her."

He proudly points at the massive image still being shown behind them.

"It all seems so sudden."

Suddenly, Brittany appears next to the camera. Rick, who's enjoying this masterpiece of an interview, welcomes her to the party. The second the blonde's eyes turn at the stage, she realizes just how big that picture is. She'll be on national television. It scares her a bit. Santana notices her presence after a few seconds and that overwhelming, stereotypical smile appears.

"Nothing about Brittany is sudden, trust me. Well, except maybe the way she can get mad at me whenever I do something wrong." she jokes.

When her eyes find her lover's in a secret way, she learns how amusingly offended the blonde is. "No, but we grew up together. We have been high school sweethearts for years, actually. Then we each went our own way for a while. She went to Stanford."

She faces the crowd with her fascinating smug face and they all start applauding. Brittany is embarrassed as shit. Are there three hundred people cheering for her right this second?

She knows the whole explanation is a delusional version of the truth, but they both agreed on it late last night. Her eyes soften, because those sentences draw her back to the knowledge that Santana fought cancer while she was away. It gives her the shivers.

"To say the least, we lost touch. But I never forgot about her. After four years, we met again, at a friend's wedding." Santana further elaborates while Keith hasn't said a thing in minutes - he's simply too fascinated. "And I don't know - It all just made sense right that second. I saw her and I didn't fell in love again. No, I was _still_ in love with her. So I just got a total confirmation of how important she is to me. Luckily, she felt the same. We've been together since and now marrying her doesn't even look scary or drastic. Or sudden. In fact, I can't _wait_ to promise her forever. Because it's been that way since I was five. Forever being with her seems easy. It will be."

The crowd remains quiet. So quiet that it turns into something beautiful. Santana turns her head and is overcome with her own feelings. Surprisingly, once she starts talking about her lady lover, she can't seem to shut up. Brittany's tearing up, because Santana is known to be guarded and careful when it concerns her love life. The interviewer follows the Latina's stare and finds the pretty blonde near the camera. Her recognizes her and enthusiastically throws his hands up in the air.

"Is that Brittany? Is that your fiancée?"

Brittany wasn't supposed to actually take part in the interview. She was reluctant enough to agree to let them show some pictures of them as a couple on a screen behind the set somewhere throughout the whole thing. Now she gets waved at to join her lady lover. And the pictures aren't even up yet. Rick asks her if she's willing to do this, but Santana's proud eyes are the ones that make her change her mind. She gets geared up with a microphone and Keith Gordon himself walks off stage to guide her to the couch her fiancée is seated on. Santana's face is worth a million bucks. She's playfully clenching her teeth as Brittany nervously heaves rapid sighs. They sit down next to each other and remain pretty neutral for a while, keeping their hands politely on their lap. But once Keith sits down again after calming down the cheering audience, he notices just how naturally the girls' fingers find a way to entwine.

"Welcome, Brittany."

The blonde chuckles nervously and realizes how impressive it is to sit in this chair. She nods politely and then quickly glances at Santana.

"We - uhm - just found out that you got engaged last night. Congratulations on that."

His hands starts clapping and the room gets filled with the loud noise of a crowd following his example.

"Thank you." she shyly says.

Santana thinks she's adorable. For a girl not going through the makeup department first, she looks beautiful as hell. She's wearing some jeans and a fashionable shirt she stole from Santana this morning. Her hair is just casually hanging down her shoulders, but it looks like a whole crew of hairdressers put an hour of work into it.

"How come we don't know anything about you? You've been spotted with this little angel around the world, yes, but nobody actually knew for a fact that you were Mrs. Future Lopez." Keith teases.

"I'm a pretty private person." Brittany explains. "And it's not like we go out every night or do a lot of interviews. We are kind of boring, if you must know. We love watching movies at home or invite friends over. But it's not like we've been hiding or anything."

Keith nods with understanding and thinks about his next question. Nothing about this is going by script anymore. No one actually expected Brittany to join in. Suddenly the pictures appear behind him. The ones the girls selected. It are sweet memories. Some even from when they were five.

"So you're telling me Santana Lopez is a nerd?" he dryly asks.

Santana's eyes flare up at the two of them and she amusingly shakes her head with denial to convince the crowd. But Brittany spoils her secrets and admits to the fact.

"She is. There's no bigger nerd than this one."

Her thumb points at the girl sitting next to her, who's faking an annoyed expression.

"But, let's be real, you are marrying a supermodel now. How does that feel like? Does it feel like marrying your idol?" the man wonders.

Brittany numbly shakes her head, while Santana is already rolling her eyes. Everyone notices.

"She's not my idol." she speaks up casually. "I know her far too well for her to be my idol. I know disgusting things about her people shouldn't know about their idol."

Santana immediately giggles over that comment and asks her to stop, but Brittany isn't done yet.

"My idol is Michael Kahn. Amazing editor. A true artist." she finishes.

It's clear that everyone thinks this hot blonde is also a smart-ass woman. She talks in a very well-educated way and discusses important things.

"Okay, Santana, I need to ask. Simply because Twitter is exploding and my producer is whispering in my ear."

Keith can't help but giggling over that fact and tries to pull himself back together.

"You never really took a stand, did you? I mean, before, you never really said: I'm gay, I'm loving the ladies, this is my girlfriend."

The Latina nods while thinking about her answer and licks her lower lip. How is she supposed to answer that question? There has always been this reputation she carried around. Ever since she entered the scene, Santana Lopez was rumored to be a party girl. She attended parties, took friends along, hung out with different people every day. At the beginning, the paparazzi didn't hunt her down as often as they do now. So Brittany stayed a bit off the radar when they were younger. Of course, when she did attend some public event, David and Eli were there as well. No one ever zoomed in on their relationship or their friendship, simply because nobody ever asked. After Santana left to get cancer treatment in Belgium, Brittany didn't appear next to her for four years. She completely misguided the press about her whereabouts and all that popped up where old magazine pictures or behind the scenes stuff. Rick would post some holiday pictures here and there to keep the crowd happy, but nobody realized she was in fact fighting for her life.

And when she got back into the public eye, Santana had no one to show off. She had flings and hookups and left their house early in the morning like it'd been normal pajama parties.

"I didn't," she eventually start explaining the lack of coming out, "but I didn't feel like I had to. You know, if I would've had to walk up to a camera and be all 'Hey, I'm in love with a girl, I want to marry her and there's nothing you can do about it', it would've been like I had to prove something. And with Brittany, I never had to prove anything."

She gently slaps their entwines hand with the one she has left and shrugs.

"She's just the person I fell in love with. The person I share a connection with that I can't even translate into words. Admitting to it would've been like excusing myself for being gay and I'll never do that. I don't feel like anyone ever should. We shouldn't have to come out, we shouldn't even have to be having this interview now. We should just walk down the street and be in love and people shouldn't have to care less. I didn't fell in love with Brittany, _the girl_. I fell in love with Brittany, _the person_."

She suddenly turns her head to the crowd and scrunches her nose: "Though I can't deny she has amazing boobs."

They are loving that comment. Brittany buries her face in her hands and starts shaking her head with embarrassment. She can't believe Santana said that. Still, it's too funny not too laugh. Keith, a man that should be a little bit conservative about topics like this, appears to be a lot more openminded that Santana anticipated. He cheers them on and in a rather awkward sort of confession, he admits that the girl isn't wrong. Brittany bursts into laughter and loudly wonders why she agreed to sit down on this couch in the first place. The Latina's shoulder shoves hers in a cute way.

"So we could talk about your boobs, obviously." she teases.

Keith nods: "Obviously."

It's no surprise that everyone on this earth adores Santana. She teases the shit out of everyone. On certain behind the scenes videos, she randomly pulls down colleagues' pants or pulls weird faces behind their back. It's adorable. And childish, but everyone loves childish.

"Okay, enough about boobs." Keith suddenly decides while waving his question cards like a hand fan to cool himself down. "I want to know about the family. You two grew up together, you say?"

Santana and Brittany both nod.

"Inseparable." the blonde explains.

"What about your parents?" he asks Santana. "Do they love Brittany?"

The girls both burst into laughter and a raw scoff escapes Santana's mouth.

"Love?" she ridicules him. "Are you kidding me? My dad _adores_ her. You need to understand …"

She turns towards the crowd and expressively starts throwing her hands through the air to represent her little situation.

"I grew up in this house where there were men and boys _all around_. My mom died when I was born and all I knew were my dad, my uncle, my granddad and my cousins. All boys, all the time. Nothing but testosterone and football and baseball. No tea parties, no princess-themed parties. No, we were pirates and cowboys."

Brittany secretively smiles over that explanation. Those days were epic. She was allowed to roll in the mud at Santana's house and climb trees and that was such a change from her own upbringing.

"So Brittany walked in and she is so much different than I am." Santana continues with a surprisingly dramatic voice, so the audience start laughing. "She's girly, she's well-mannered, she's tactful and soft. She says please while I just yank things out of people's hands. I was raised by men, you see, so I'm rude and snarky and I can never completely put that off. Brittany is their Goddess. When we fight and I go to my _pack_ for moral support and back up, they totally yell at me. I never win. They are always like: '_Stop driving that sweet girl crazy. Do you have any idea how impossible you are?_'"

By that time she's mimicking her own father and the crowd starts laughing. Keith can't believe how much fun he's having, while Brittany can't do anything but nod affirmatively.

"Poor Santana." Keith utters. "But at least her parents must love you?"

He's teasing her and she doesn't mind. Santana nods and obviously forgets to mention the part where Eleanor and William hated her for four years.

"They are wonderful. They are the sweetest people and I'm lucky enough to have found their daughter." she says and she means it.

"So they agree with you when the two of you have a fight?" Keith says while pointing at her.

Santana shakes her head right after exploding from laughter and cups her own face with both hands.

"No, like I said, I never win." she admits.

* * *

They go on their first public, romantic date ever after the engagement storm later that week. It's a restaurant called RiverSide on Sunset Boulevard. The place looks magically cosy and sort of reminds its guest of a terrace somewhere on a tropical island. It's furnished with wood trellises. They make you sit down on cushioned booths and there's green everywhere. Plus, the food is great.

The date sort of is a trick to lure the press to the restaurant, only to have them wait for the girls' arrival and departure hours later. But it's a statement thing. It's to make sure they know exactly where they are and who they're with. So when Brittany and Santana's driver pulls over the car right in front of the entrance of the RiverSide, a turmoil of paparazzi gather around the back seat doors to snap pictures. Luckily, the windows are shaded. A nervous Brittany grabs Santana's hands and they get out as soon as possible. The girls look amazing - so pretty that they each told each other just how hot they were at least five times the last fifteen minutes. Flashes blind them on their way in. All they want is to get through that door as quickly as possible. Luckily, the waiters assist them by opening up for them the second they are recognized.

They sit down at a table not that very far from the window, so the photographers still can curiously look at them from a distance. It's a trick. A marketing trick. The girls don't mind, though. After ten seconds, they have forgotten about the secret agenda. Because looking into each other's eyes from each side of the table drags them into the mythical dimension of an AA-meeting.

"Here's to us." Brittany whispers, while holding up her glass of wine.

Santana toasts to that and mysteriously smiles. She can't help but feeling utterly happy. This is their first official date as a couple - to the world, that is. They've been out and about a million times before, in fact, but nobody really ever noticed. To the world, they were just friends. Roommates. Platonic acquaintances. Now it's out in the open - it's a public masterpiece. It's a spectacle. But to those two young girls, it's just another evening together. Until a distant flash disturbs their private moment momentarily.

"I feel like we're sixteen again and everyone's staring at us until we kiss."

Santana chuckles over the blonde's comment and nods.

"And then they'd stare at us more because we just kissed."

Brittany remembers. Those were crazy days. They didn't care, not even for a second, about what others would think. Most of the time, people seemed to ignore the fact that they were two girls. The girls were together all the time. A kiss in public changed so little. But when they did - oh, the boys went crazy. And the girls got curious.

"You look amazing." Brittany whispers over her glass, suggestively wiggling her eyebrows.

"I want to impress you." Santana shyly admits.

But the blonde doesn't believe it for a second. She throws quick glances through the room and counts the people subtly observing their every move. The world is enchanted when Santana Lopez enters the room. For God's sake, even Brittany is enchanted after all those years.

"You don't dress to impress." she scoffs. "You dress to depress: so good that others feel bad."

The slim fingers of the supermodel caress the skin of her fiancée like they are silk. Like they are meant to be touched. Except nobody's allowed. If another person but Santana would touch this divine person the way she does, Santana would kill them. And she'd actually enjoy doing it.

* * *

Two hours later, the girls run into some friends of Santana. They gather around one table, after asking the restaurant manager if it'd be okay to have some drinks at this place. Of course he agrees. Any restaurant in this town would die to have a bunch of supermodels, actors and singers to spend a high-profile night out at theirs. There were twenty paparazzi bastards lined up outside of the building when Santana and Brittany entered. The second her friends walked in to have dinner and accidentally ended up at their table, that number tripled. The large amount of dinner guests have left the establishment and the manager subtly turns the music volume up. A talented bartender shakes up some cocktails and distributes them to the famous guests. It's starting to get a little too comfortable around this place. Nobody minds.

Another hour and one of the world most known singers is situated on top of the counter, dancing her ass off with one of her best friends. Brittany adores the complete normality of these people. They earn so much money, they get stalked by photographers around the clock and produce the most amazing work of art. But in here, without the designer high heels and pressure of the entertainment world, some seem more ordinary than her. They seem like regular people instead of fairies.

Santana downs a tequila and expresses the most disgusted expression in her life. For the first time ever, Brittany's not attracted to her. But as soon as Santana returns to her normal face, that changes. They used to go out all the time. There were friends and strangers. Dances and drinking games. Always so much fun - always so carefree and joyous. Their teenage life was so simple and pure. Everything about life felt genuine and honest. Few things feel that way right now. Los Angeles is a strange city to live in. Fame and power does a lot to a personality. It makes it impossible to completely rely on others, to trust them without hesitation, to commit to someone without fear. Another one of Santana's old colleagues seems to realize that same thing a while later.

"I can't even remember life before this. Like, how does it feel like to leave your house without creeps around the corner."

Another gorgeous woman picks up on that. She's completely wasted.

"Or makeup."

They all pull weird faces, except Brittany. She still walks out the door like that all the time. Santana pats her leg under the table, to reassure her she's not the strange one here. As a way of convenience, she leaves it their, gently stroking the skin in a teasing way. Brittany starts to smile mysteriously and looks at her. She's had a few drinks too. The buzz is starting to kick in and, in all honesty, she's really enjoying this evening.

"We were pretty awesome when we were in high school." Santana suddenly reveals to her peers.

Immediately, a dozen eyes are pointed at her.

"We'd go to illegal parties, make out in the closets - which is so ironic now you think of it."

Brittany wiggles her eyebrows and nods all amused. It is.

Santana continues unrestrained: "And then I met Rick Spencer, my manager, and I gently told him to fuck off because he was way too old to hit on me."

Brittany snorts while laughing: "She totally did."

But the divine Latina waves her hands down her own body and shrugs: "Still hired me, though."

"Still can't believe that. You were always an asshole when we went out." Brittany tells her.

"What do you mean?" Santana curiously wonders, while wiggling her nose with excitement.

"You'd always challenge some guy to fight you whenever they talked to me. It was ridiculous."

"Oh, those guys were lucky you stopped me. I could've handled them all." Santana claims.

But her lover isn't convinced about that: "You are very skinny. You struggle with opening heavy doors. You couldn't have taken on those men. This is typically you being stupid when drunk."

Santana just shrugs: "I'm sorry, but I do stupid things when I'm sober as well. Remember when I got those seven stitches across the knuckles?"

She's practically proud of it.

"You're an adult." Brittany reminds her.

And it's the most childish, playful reaction Santana ever had when she reacts to that: "Yeah, but not like a _real_ one."

Suddenly, Brittany's memories bring her back to old times. Times when Santana proved to be more than the dork she's secretly trying to be at this age.

"Remember when you used to sing me that song?" she asks, while yanking Santana's arm.

"What song?" the Latina asks, only to express how desperately she wants it to remain a secret.

Of course she knows the song. She _hates_ the song. It's the one that appears when her heart explodes with love and that's only preserved for her blonde lover. It disgusts her how cheesy she can be at times, so Santana's eyes force Brittany to shut up and never speak again. But the sweetest memory of memories gets the upper hand.

"That _ridiculous_ song." Brittany betrays her. "Something like … _It__'__s love. It__'__s love. It__'__s love with you. You love me and I love you_."

She starts wiggling her butt and throws her hands up in the air to reenact Santana's past movements. The model is embarrassed to the bone and throws an apologetic look to her friends, the bunch of top models and actors that don't know this side of her. Their enchanted smiles show just how fascinated they are by the story. Their smiles are magical.

"_I__'__m never scared. I never hide. But when I look at you, I know it__'__s right_."

The blonde starts singing and though it's sweet, she starts to chuckle over the words. Santana tackles her on the wide couch to make her shut up, but eventually it's Brittany's own hysterical laughter that keeps her from singing along. The crowd of famous friends are strangely impressed by the cuteness overload and look at each other all adorable.

Brittany wipes the tears from her eyes and forces herself to breathe again. After that, she has one thing left to share.

"The last line of those lyrics were '_Me and you is gay times two_'. It was the best thing I ever heard in my entire life."

Santana rolls her eyes and pouts.

"You are the worst."

"And yet, you asked me to marry you." Brittany teases.

* * *

When they decide to get their jackets, it's late. In a few hours, both girls are expected at work. They don't feel like it. They are drunk enough to embarrass themselves in front of the cameras in a few minutes. Those long awaited pictures will be worth it. Twitter will agree.

The woman working the coat check in the room next to the toilets is long gone, so they go searching for their belongings on their own. When Santana looks into Brittany's eyes for too long, the atmosphere shifts. Those eyes. The way they sparkle. The desire to be read, the love that stops a heartbeat. Brittany remembers the lingering touch of Santana's fingers on her lap earlier. She remembers the tingling feeling it shot through her body.

It takes them exactly three seconds before a primal urge has them forced against the nearest wall. Santana's fingers disappear in Brittany's panties and a hasty, aroused gasp escapes the blonde's mouth. The way the model's movements make her moan sometimes drives her crazy. Brittany asks her to be careful, because so many people are around. But the fingers just thrust into the blonde's skinny body deeper. And deeper. And deeper. And as Santana pants, Brittany sighs and moans - like an animal. Like she's not able to control herself. She shrieks over the excitement until, at a certain point, Brittany wouldn't even care if her own mother would walk into the room. All Santana is determined to do is fuck her lover. To enchant her. To dazzle and corrupt her until they reach the apex of their connection. And Brittany lets her. Oh, boy, does Brittany let her.

* * *

**So, tomorrow's the day. We all know it is ... Tomorrow is the last of Glee, like, EVER ... And there won't be much, but thank GOD Brittana will appear for a few seconds.**

**But hey, you know, our OTP got married. They got a happy ending. It started as a joke and guess what? They had the best connection and most beautiful development out all of the couples. They never cheated on each other, they never called each other idiots or stupid, they always believed in each other and they fought for each other ... **

**So, I hope you enjoy this lovely, cute chapter and if you do, please let me know ;)**


	15. A wedding

**A wedding**

_2016_

* * *

"How come we don't do this more often?" Brittany wonders out loud, while walking down the streets of her beloved old town.

"Because I'm a famous person and shopping requires a three hour makeup preparation." Santana sneers.

Like always, the Latina quickly kicks the fun out of it by joking around.

"Shut up and hold my hand." Brittany tells her, determined to ignore the sassy comment. "Nobody knows you're here. So it'll be fine."

"It wasn't fine yesterday. Ever since the engagement came out, the pap is on our ass twenty four seven."

Okay, yesterday _was_ bad. After just suffering the delight of a midnight fitting and only three hours of sleep, Santana was running late for a casting in Boston. She flew there with a private plane Rick had chartered. It sounds very decadent, but there was no other option. Santana had to be back in Los Angeles by sunset. Another casting took place that evening. Plus, a rehearsal runway.

"I haven't seen you a lot lately." Brittany pouts.

"Like that's just my fault. You've been working a lot too, babe." Santana defends herself.

They are shooting a movie at Pierce Movies. For once, Brittany agreed to work with her parents, but only because the script was so freaking good. Besides, it's close to home. The studios are a half an hour drive from their apartment building.

When Santana's phone suddenly starts buzzing, she picks up with a charming greeting. It's Rick. It's always Rick.

"Yeah, it was great." she tells him.

Brittany is holding her hand and pulls her to a nearby shop. She has to buy some beauty products and waits patiently for Santana to hang up the phone.

"That one too," Santana positively reviews the day. "Oh, and Spencer was so nice to me on the plane. Really, I had no idea."

The other voice sounds enthusiastic. Suddenly, Brittany's jaw drops. She interrupts the conversation as if it is not a rude thing to do.

"Did you _meet_ Spencer Riddick?" she exhales while barely breathing.

He's a legend. Nobody knows that man and yet, he's so important in the industry. It's like he's a living ghost. Naturally, Santana would be the chosen one to share a private jet with him. Santana nods and smiles her way, while listening to Rick as well.

"What's he like?" Brittany continues the questioning.

Santana thinks her curiosity is adorable and shrugs while rolling her eyes over the nagging spree that Rick has cast over her. She covers the microphone and leans closer to Brittany.

"He's pretty legendary." she winks, only to confirm the blonde's suspicion.

It's like every single person that ever met this man signed a confidentiality contract to keep the mystery alive. The model turns around to discuss upcoming events over the phone and that's when the impatient Brittany decides to walk into the store alone.

"Stay here. Behave and don't cause a media storm." she orders her girlfriend.

But Santana is feeling attacked by that assumption and growls, completely forgetting about Rick for a hot second: "Like that's ever _my_ fault."

* * *

By the time she hangs up, Santana decides to just wait for Brittany outside. It's nice to breathe in some clean air for a change. It's different from the city. When it's cloudy and rainy, it takes a lot to inhale properly.

All of a sudden, she notices a man standing next to her. He looks kind of familiar, but the time or place of their previous interaction just doesn't pop up in her mind.

"Hi." he says, too embittered to be a loyal fan.

She frowns and observes his curly blond hair. He's cute, but something about his appearance makes her not like him.

"Hi." she softly utters. "I'm sorry, but who are you?"

She tries to be friendly, but when a guy walks over to her with that attitude, you can't expect much. She turns her head to the shop and stares through the windows, hoping Brittany will show up soon.

"I'm Christopher." the man introduces himself.

Unfortunately, Santana still can't put an occasion to the face. She tries to cover he ignorance up, though, and smiles politely.

"Nice to meet you, Christopher." she tells him.

But the man is unimpressed. He squeezes his eyes a bit and that makes him look a lot more Asian than she would've given him.

"We met before." he confirms her suspicion.

She hesitantly frowns all innocent: "When?"

Christopher clearly is unimpressed by her oblivious portrayal: "I'm Brittany's ex-boyfriend."

Suddenly, that night flashes in front of her eyes. The ex-boyfriend, right. She still remembers his angry face every time he saw her storm in or out of a room.

"_Oh_. Nice to meet you properly this time."

She couldn't be less intimidated. This one does nothing to her. He doesn't scare her, he doesn't intrigue her. He's the living prove that Brittany has had sex with other people but her and that kind of pisses her off. This person doesn't stand a chance.

"Right … So you don't even remember me?"

Now she's just acting.

"I'm bad with faces, really." she tells him with an evil smirk.

He suddenly calms down, though. The man's been mad at her probably. She walked into his life, took his girl the exact same hour and left like nothing ever happened. Except his entire life changed without asking how he'd feel about that.

"How did this …"

He shuts up immediately after uttering the words and coughs to gather his thoughts.

"I mean - it doesn't make any sense. Brittany isn't gay. She can't be." he tells her.

Santana kind of gets a compassionate feeling concerning him. Little does he know.

"We were best friends for eighteen years." she explains with a straight face. "We were lovers for almost three. The things we did to each other, believe me, it was pretty gay."

He smirks and tries to block the image out. Just like Brittany when Santana left, he gets constantly reminded of the brutal truth by looking at billboards and magazines. Most of the time, Brittany's standing right next to her when the paparazzi snaps pictures of her. And now they're engaged.

"You don't really like me, do you?" she asks, kind of needless.

The man, nicely dressed and perfectly groomed, shrugs and wiggles his nose: "Well, I don't want to murder you."

She smiles. This rather snarky conversation makes her realize what Brittany might have seen in him.

"That's positive thinking." she assures him with a charming smirk.

He nods and puts both hands in his pockets.

"Anyway, bye." he tells her.

One more look at her and he decides to leave before things get really awkward.

By the time he's halfway down the street, Brittany resurfaces. She recognizes the man Santana is staring at and her heart stops beating immediately.

"Oh, God. What did you say to him?" she quickly asks her fiancée while dreading the answer.

The Latina innocently shrugs: "Nothing. I was being the ultimate sweet girl."

"And by that you mean you were being an asshole." Brittany clarifies, remembering the previous occasions when Santana used those exact words.

"Maybe." she admits sweetly.

The blonde pokes her shoulder and rolls her eyes dramatically. Poor Christopher.

"You are so rude." she emphasizes.

"Well, I'm sorry. What am I supposed to do, give him the number of one of my supermodel friends after he comes storming at me, just to make him feel better?"

Santana is seriously trying to be the good guy here.

"Well, I would be happy with that if you stole my girlfriend." Brittany jokes.

But Santana reacts offended and crosses her arms defensively: "I didn't steal you. You practically threw yourself at my feet."

Normally, Brittany would object to the choice of words. She raises her finger to accuse her better part, but stops herself before the first word leaves her mouth.

"True."

They hook arms and decide to walk in the opposite direction of the ex-boyfriend. Mainly because Brittany fears another confrontation. One that battles with Santana Lopez always loses. She learned that the hard way.

"What did you see in him?" Santana suddenly wonders out loud. "I mean, he's cute and he's probably really smart. But what was it, that _drew_ you to him?"

Brittany expected this to pop up somewhere today. Santana always accuses her of being the curious one, but she's so wrong.

"Well, if you must know and I know you must: when I recovered from the initial shock that you weren't coming back, I got overwhelmed by a whirlwind of emotions. I told myself that there _had_ to be someone as special like you, someone that could make me feel this way. Because you would have to be magical and privileged if no other person on this entire planet had the same effect on me. So I went searching, kissed a few girls and boys - hoping I'd stop missing you. In the meantime your face popped up everywhere, hovering over some gorgeous models' bodies and I got jealous just thinking about you being around so many breathtakingly beautiful creatures. Just thinking about you kissing someone else made me irrationally enraged. And then I stopped seeing you everywhere. And time went by and I met Christopher and he wasn't that bad. He was sweet, compassionate, caring, … I knew he wasn't going to walk out on me. So I settled for less than magical. I settled for normal."

Santana remains quiet and impressed for a second. But then her normal funny-or-die mood kicks in and she mischievously starts to smile.

"_He wasn__'__t that bad_? Seriously? Poor you. Wanna - um - go home so I can apologize?" she teases her lover.

"Don't you need to be at that meeting super early in the morning?"

But Santana doesn't live by the hours of an alarm. She decides what time it is, when she'll show up and the world follows her lead.

All of a sudden, she feels really sorry for Christopher. Because he had her and she was taken away. There's nothing he could do about it. What if the same had happened to her? Santana knows what it is to lose Brittany. It isn't pretty. In fact, it's the worst thing in the world. She got her back. Christopher didn't.

She fucks Brittany's brains out that night. She makes her orgasm against the wall, on the floor, on the kitchen counter and in the shower until Brittany can no longer feel her legs. In an effort to prove just how magnificently connected she feels with her long lost lover, she totally works her magic. She goes hard, only to make Brittany scream "harder".

* * *

"How did we end up on a beach in Mexico again?"

Brittany stares into the sunny, sandy distance that is called a beach. It's so hot today that even her bikini feels like an overdressed option. Next to her, though, is Santana. The girl is trying really hard not to sweat. It'll ruin her makeup and the stylists will kill her if that happens.

"Last minute job, babe. It's the way the cookie crumbles …"

The mystery lingers over her lips while she keeps fanning herself with a little electrical propeller. Luckily, this isn't a clothing job. Bikini and bathing suits. Pictures in the ocean and next to the pool. In Mexico. Couldn't be better.

"You call the model that supposed to pull this off falling down a three-story building a crumbling cookie?"

Santana looks her way and hesitates before nodding.

"It's not like I pushed her or anything." she defends herself. "Why would anyone ever climb on top of a roof and dangle over the fence?"

Brittany, playing around with the smartphone she has to hold since a bikini with pockets hasn't been invented yet, bites her lower lip and frowns: "Because that someone was as high as a kite and decided to test whether or not she could fly."

As the crew works hard to get everything into place for the next part of the shoot, Santana muses over the facts. Well, at least the accident made one of them happier.

The girls haven't seen each other all week. So flying Brittany over to this paradise seemed like the perfect opportunity to romance her. It's hard sometimes, with Santana going back and forth between New York and London all the time. Insert the vacation destinations for strikingly beautiful photoshoots and going home to see her family every few weeks, there's not much time left for relationship intermezzos. Sure, it's an exceptionally busy moment in their careers. It's not easy to clear their schedules at the same time. Brittany has a job too- not exactly a nine to five arrangement. Doesn't stop them from trying, though.

"I love how you can easily order me to fly over and see you in Mexico. Seriously, who does that?"

Santana smirks over Brittany's comment and sneaks up on her to kiss her softly on the side of her lips: "Santana Lopez does."

One of the makeup artists calls out her name. She's not allowed to kiss her girlfriend right now. It'll destroy her lips. Santana rolls her eyes.

Though it's officially too warm to remain this close to each other, the girls can't help themselves and fight their biological thermometer. The model's eyes wander to the blonde's lips. They look just as kissable as they prove to be. A few fans have gathered behind the barrier tape that's meant to keep them away from the set. They are calling out both of their names. Ever since word got out that Brittany and Santana are tying the knot in the near future, they became a famous _pair_. Junior _Brangelina_. Except with lesbians. Brittany just thinks it's weird that people recognize her all the time. Being a celebrity was never her dream. That's why she's standing at the other side of the camera when it comes to the showbiz aspect of her job. Santana waves at the bystanders and smiles politely. She loves the attention. The two of them can be so different sometimes. As soon as they notice that Santana is paying attention to them, the fans start taking pictures. Just a few minutes ago, she went over there to hand out some autographs. But the number has multiplied, so it's better not to go back again. It'd be crazy.

"Do you want a selfie with a Victoria's Secret Angel?" she suddenly suggests, after tapping the phone Brittany's holding.

She suggestively wiggles her eyebrows and acts like she's granting Brittany a dying wish.

"Duh." Brittany cheerfully plays along.

A soon as the words have come out, Santana nods quite sure of herself: "I knew it."

Sometimes she forgets that not _every_ person in the world would kill to take a picture with her. But it makes Brittany laugh that Santana treats her like a fan sometimes, even if it's for giggles. Disobeying the makeup artists's guidelines again, they kiss lovingly while the camera takes a picture of them. While parting, the blonde heaves a delighted sigh. Her skin is trembling. And when she opens her eyes again, she finds Santana staring into them with a look that makes her fall in love with her all over again.

"God, we are so adorable it's nauseating." Brittany smiles amusingly.

Santana agrees while pulling Brittany even closers towards her: "I know, right. People must hate us."

Sure, that's why there are about twenty fan pages dedicated to their relationship.

"I'd hate us." Brittany growls while picturing someone else behaving like they do. "Except I love us."

Her fiancée rolls her eyes and scoffs: "Charming."

Their skins are sticky due to the hotness in this place. Being so close together doesn't help. Santana feels how Brittany pushes her crotch upwards on purpose. She snickers nervously and brings her lips close to Brittany's ears.

"Stop it." she whispers.

But Brittany's in a playful mood. She wraps her arms around Santana's divine waist and applies pressure to the cute, round butt she's holding onto. These bikinis make it way too easy. Santana heats up in seconds and she carefully throws her eyes around the place. Nobody's noticing a thing, not even the fans. They are too far away. The girls' breathing enhances and it makes them both smile mischievously. Santana's eyes are begging her to stop.

"Want to know a secret?" Brittany teases.

Her fiancée looks up to her with aroused eyes and nods.

"I'm going to have exhausting, sweaty, hot sex with a Victoria's Secret Angel at the balcony of my hotel room in a few hours." she tells her, just too get her all worked up.

The charmingly impressed Santana is requested at one of the setups and that makes the Latina literally jump away from her lover. With a gentle stroke over Brittany's bare back, she says goodbye. By the time her job is done and the most gorgeous shots of the most gorgeous parts of her bodies are taken, she heads back to the hotel where Brittany is waiting near the pool. When she walks over to her, she finds her passionately reading a book. She's so absorbed in the story that she fails to recognize her top model fiancée. A familiar voice makes her look up, though.

"I want to get married. I want to get married to you. I want you to wake up every morning and think: yes, it was the right thing to do!"

Santana is holding her smartphone in front of her face while she reads the text that Brittany just send her out loud. It sounds like she's ridiculing the rhyming, but at the same time, she thinks it's adorable.

"So, I've been thinking." Brittany elaborates while putting the book aside and sitting up straight.

She pulls Santana down next to her and kisses her collarbone. It always makes the Latina smile like crazy because it's too cute. Brittany's hiding something, she notices it in the sparkle in her eyes.

"Did it hurt?" she teases.

Brittany throws her a vicious look and breathes through her teeth: "Surprisingly not."

After readjusting her sunglasses, she drops the annoyed act and starts smiling.

"Anyway. This is the perfect place to waste time. It's magical over here. This hotel is beautiful. The staff is so sweet. You have a few more days off. The weather is working wonders with my body."

She proudly points out the red tanning marks on her skin, which makes Santana grin like a fool. Her fingers quickly trace up Brittany's bare legs and the blonde slaps them away before they reach their goal.

"So I was thinking: wouldn't this be the ideal moment to get married?"

Sure, the girls haven't exactly done a lot of wedding planning up to this point, even though Santana proposed to Brittany nearly a year ago now. Santana's a bit surprised by the sudden suggestion, though.

"Brittany, you're kidding, right? I mean, I'd love to. I'd marry you in that bikini on this sun bed if we could."

Her eyes roll up and down the body of her fiancée and more than ever, she trusts the level of seriousness drenching her own words.

"But I want my family to be there when I promise you forever. That's really important to me."

Brittany starts smiling and twists her head funnily: "I know that."

Her mysterious attitude intrigues the Latina.

"What did you do?"

Looking like a kid that just got caught after stealing candy, the blonde's eyes fire up with mischief.

"I invited them all." she confesses.

"What?"

Santana's jaw drops. She quickly scouts the place but doesn't recognize a single person around.

"They are up in their rooms, getting ready."

Santana, too baffled to think rationally, starts to stutter: "Ready for what?"

"For the wedding ceremony that approximately twenty freaked out staff members are organizing right now." Brittany nervously admits.

"What?" Santana repeats herself.

Right now, she's in shock. After thinking about it for a while, she's sure: yep, shock.

"I called the hotel on the way over here. And then I called my parents and your crazy pack of wolves." she smirks. "Given, I was pretty sure you'd be in for it."

Trying to remind herself to breathe, Santana keeps staring in front of her. But suddenly, she starts to smile - right after realizing just how amazing all of it is.

"Well, let's get married then, right?" she concludes, like it's the most normal thing in the world.

* * *

"Are you sure about marrying this girl?"

Santana checks herself out in the mirror. She's wearing the most gorgeous pantsuit she's ever worn. Of course, every girl is supposed to think as much about her wedding outfit. But it's true: she radiates happiness just by seeing it. The top looks like a bustier. It's white. It's strapless and tight. Her high heels are golden. Brittany knows exactly what she likes - this is utter perfection.

Behind her, George might be just as nervous as his little girl. She smirks over his concern and knows just as well that it was the most overrated question ever.

"I've never been happier than when I'm with her, dad." she talks through the mirror. "And I've never been sadder when I wasn't. Marrying her makes complete sense. It's math."

He knows that. Of course he knows that. There was just a part of him that needed to ask.

"You look gorgeous, Santana. I haven't seen a woman that beautiful since your mom on our wedding day." he tells her.

She thanks him with a soft, melancholic smile and turns around.

"I'm going to get married." she suddenly realizes a full hundred percent while she wiggles her fists. "Today. In a couple of minutes. It's my wedding day."

She heaves an exited sigh and chuckles.

"I'm nervous, daddy. But in a good way. I'm nervous because I can't wait to start forever."

The guy is dressed up nicely. He's wearing his best suit. When Brittany called with the idea of flying them over, he immediately loved it. She's his other daughter, you see. The one he got for free. No one else would ever be good enough for his little girl.

"I know none of this is planned, but I do get to walk you down the isle, right?" he wonders out loud.

Santana puffs away the wrecking trembling rushing through her body and promises he can. He takes her hand and tears up by the sight of her. Then he walks her out of the room, to make their way over to the beach. Sun is starting to set and it's still warm - just a lot more pleasant than it was a couple of hours ago. The hotel has lit about a hundred candles that lead her to the little alter that is covered with white drapes. It looks absolutely beautiful. Almost as beautiful as the girl standing in front of it. Brittany makes her heart stop the second her stunning appearance catches her attention. The world around her fades while her father escorts her to the front of the alter. The blonde is wearing a cute, short lace dress. It has sparkling decorations all over it. The shape is frivolous and kind of reminds Santana of a country look. Her feet aren't squirmed into tight heels, but carry the most adorable white cowboy boots.

Brittany's parents sit in front of the left row of chairs. They look so proud. So honored to be part of this event. Behind them, there's a gathering of models Santana is way too familiar with. Julia Danes, Kathy McGrath and Silvie Vermeer are all lined up to witness the spectacle. Next to them: Susan. Ecstatic to the bone. She already took three selfies with them.

On the other side of the isle, there's the pack of wolves, as Brittany likes to call them. David and Eli sit in the front row, together with Eli's beloved girlfriend Jessy. Behind them, Santana finds uncle Aaron and her granddad Nicholas, gloating with pride. She loves her pack. The men that raised her with all the flaws and best intentions a couple of guys can come up with. Even Rick has joined them. Seriously, there are far too little women in her family.

Her emotional father gives her away and entwines the hands of his favorite girls before kissing the enthusiastic Brittany on the forehead. She thanks him and smiles proudly when her eyes flare up at her bride to be. Santana look dashing. Even more than usual. Must be the glow of happiness completely taking control of her. The officiator walks over to them and welcomes all the guests for gathering here. Santana looks up to him and raises a mischievous smirk. He winks at her. The guests listen to the man's heartwarming speech. Meanwhile, Brittany and Santana just act like nervous puppies around each other. They can't decide whether they should cry of laugh over their emotions. So to make sure they don't miss any important feeling, they do both. After the common starting speech of the man conducting the wedding ceremony, it's their turn to say their vows. Unlike Brittany, Santana has had little time to think about it. But it's easy when it comes to expressing her love for the blonde girl. When you've been in love with someone from the first time you saw each other in kindergarten, it's not hard to translate that into words.

"My beautiful, beautiful Brittany." she starts, while softly giggling over her own level of sincerity.

Brittany scrunches her nose over the adorableness happening in front of her. This is too real, too grownup.

"I might be a model," Santana amusingly brags, "but you're the one that drives me. See, you are my runway, the path that leads me to places I've never been before. You are the exhilarating feeling that makes me nervous every step of the way. You are the wings they put on my shoulders, because sometimes when I look at you, I am convinced that I can fly. You are the force that keeps me from tripping as I try my best not to fall on my face, because no matter what: I know you're here to catch me."

The people around them start laughing, just like Brittany. Except she's got tears in her eyes. Pure joy overwhelms her. Santana is not done yet. There's so much to say and there aren't enough words in the dictionary to express it all.

"You are the light that shines down on me and the movements of my arms and legs. You are the artist that makes me feel pretty and loved. You are the whole reason why I gloat whenever I do. Because there's not a single person in the world that makes me feel happier, more alive, more safe than you do. And every photoshoot, every catwalk run, every time I stare into a camera, I express my love for you - I exhale my undeniable adoration and affection when I picture you inside of my head. You are the very best thing that ever happened to me. And I just can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you. Because no matter what, we always seem to find our way back to each other."

Brittany's hands are trembling, but Santana is holding them firmly, assuring her of her presence. She quickly puts one hand on Brittany's cheek, to wipe away a beautiful tear. She hadn't noticed just how nice the blonde's hair is pulled back into a high dot that's decorated with a string of braided hair. Her little cute veil perfects the hairdo.

"So I guess that this whole speech doesn't exactly contain real vows. Because, really, I suck at keeping promises." Santana jokes, though she's serious at the same time. "I could promise to never lie to you or never hurt you. But you know me: it'll probably happen a couple of times, by accident."

Brittany is carrying the cutest smile in the history of the world. It's rudely true and she wouldn't want her any other way.

"I guess I can vow that I'll love you until infinity - because that's exactly what'll happen - if that is good enough for you. But in all honesty: I don't need vows. I just need you."

Her lady lover presses her lips tightly on top of each other and nods all emotional while Santana slips a beautiful, white gold ring over her finger. She thinks it's perfect. They look at each other like they're about to kiss. Except they can't yet. The man standing next to them reminds them of that little fact. David lovingly smiles over it, while Santana mocks the guy for a second.

"My lovely Santana." Brittany takes over with a trembling voice. "You are right: today I'm marrying a supermodel. An actual Angel. So, naturally, I win at life."

Brittany smirks proudly and Santana follows her lead. The models centered behind Brittany's parents shrugs self-confidently for jokes and wink at the people staring at them. David has his eyes set on Julia, though. He thinks she's gorgeous. Ever since he first saw her all those years ago. A very attentive Susan is noticing. She's making mental notes.

"But I'm also marrying the love of my life." Brittany resumes and elaborates. "And most importantly: my best friend. The one that has protected me ever since I was five years old. The one that helped me to achieve goals and follow my dreams. The one that made me realize that falling in love is the best feeling in the world. You are the better part of me, Santana. Without you, I always feel like there's something missing. Because I'm only me when I'm with you. You are my heart. You stole a kiss from me in 2009 and ever since that moment you've been trying really hard to pay me back. Never stop, please."

Santana shakes her head. She won't. The blonde thinks about making promises as well. Because vows should contain something you can always use as leverage in a fight, or when you try to win a discussion with a valid argument. Or, you know, when you're thinking about giving up. At least, that's what Santana claims. She licks her upper lip and squeezes Santana fingers to remind her this is actually really happening. She's getting married. And nothing about it feels weird or scary.

"I promise to forever watch Disney movies with you when you don't feel like going to one of those celebrity parties. And each and every time you ask me, I'll prepare you breakfast in bed, with Nutella chocolate spread on your toasts. I promise to always be in love with you, no matter what. And that I'll take care of you and never walk out on you - not even when you're being a bitch."

Suddenly, she's awkwardly reminded by the fact that a officiated man is standing nearby and she puts an apologetic hand in front of her mouth. But Santana couldn't be more moved. Insulting a servant of God by expressing your love for your sapphic lover - it doesn't get any better than that. Brittany's nervous fingers slide the exact replica of her own ring over Santana's fingers. It sparkles in the last rays of sunshine.

"I love you." Santana whispers sweetly, still not believing how much effort she put into all of this.

Brittany is aware of how much she adores the sound of her voice.

"I love you too." she tells her.

Before being technically allowed to do so, the girls kiss. Passionately, desirable, hot, fiercely. And it feels even more magical than normal.

* * *

When the model walks in with a couple of wine bottles in her hand, she accidentally runs into her wife. Oh, the sound of that word runs shivers down her spine. In a good way, of course.

"We're having a cheese and wine night." she explains, while innocently looking into the dazzlingly enchanting blue eyes.

Sure, the lack of planning shows. It's not like Santana had a say in any of it. So they came up with their own rendition of a wedding reception. Like: one day after the actual wedding. Last night, after the ceremony, they all just partied until sunrise on the beach. And instead of a usual, formal dinner, they used some artistic freedom to insert their own interpretation of a lovely night with friends and family this evening.

"Where's the cheese?" Brittany amusingly notices the poverty of dairy.

But Santana is quick to answer her with a firm belief that she'll get excused.

"In all fairness: I came unprepared. But I've got wine. Lots of it. The hotel will take care of the rest."

She's wearing a dress her father would never approve of. Probably the only reason she's wearing it in the first place. It's red. It's tiny. It accentuates all the parts a father hopes no one will ever notice. Brittany is already feeling aroused, and they haven't even touched each other yet.

"You are dead-cute." Brittany tells her.

She's overcome with love. It consumes her - kept her up all night. Well, so did Santana, of course. Not that she's complaining. It was quite a pleasure, actually. Wedding nights are awesome.

"Am I?"

"Yes." the blonde nods in all seriousness. "Sorry for being so brutally honest."

"That's okay." Santana shrugs. "I've heard that one before."

Brittany takes some of the bottles so they can divide the delicious liquor. As they make their way over to the cosy room where their friends and family have gathered, the silence is caused by shamelessly staring at each other and drowning in sets of eyes that express the deep amount of love they posses.

When they walk through the majestic doors, the guests start applauding and the girls sheepishly ask them to stop embarrassing them. Of course, Susan takes the lead in all the noise.

There's fun and music. They dance and laugh. They all act like complete fools in paradise. It's perfect. It's just as joyful as a wedding party is supposed to be. Even if it's a day late.

"Sometimes I think I don't tell you how much I love you enough."

Santana swirls Brittany around during their little improvised wedding reception and enjoys the dance way too much.

Her wife disagrees, though: "You do, every single day. Not necessarily with words, but it's in everything you do and the way you smile at me. You tell me every day."

She can't believe they got married. Here, on a beach, less than twenty four hours ago. It was the best idea she ever had. And now she's _married_. She's _married_ to the love of her life. Santana feels the same.

"You will be so hot, pregnant." Santana suddenly informs her.

Clearly, she has been fantasizing about the future. It's her favorite thing to do.

"You'll be the hottest mommy-to-be. You'll shine in the dark, have this incredible glow, grow as much as you'll increase knowledge and pride. You'll be the most breathtaking MILF the world has ever seen. No doubt about it."

Brittany feels intrigued by her assumptions. It seems nice, sharing a pregnancy with Santana.

"We're going to have kids?"

The model nods. It'll all planned out in her head.

"Yes. But we have all the time in the world for that. First, I want to enjoy you."

Brittany reminds her of their last little encounter with a dirty smile: "You did, for hours last night. Remember?"

Oh, does she. It was so hot. And sweaty. And sexy. Oh - here come are the shivers.

When her father steps in to ask for a dance, Santana can't accept the request fast enough. She has always loved dancing with her father. They had to give up the swing routine a long time ago. This dancing is something no one outgrows, though. Plus, it's mandatory to dance with your old man on your wedding. Even if it's improvised, with a woman instead of a man and somewhere in Mexico. Brittany decides to copy the behavior and grabs her father, William, by the arm. In the middle of the room, Julia has been dancing with David all night. She broke up with her loser boyfriend after the catwalk fiasco. Since then, better examples of manhood cross her path daily. But nobody ever gets as enchanted as David when he looks at her. She like that about him.

"I hate that dress." George suddenly points out.

His daughter lets him lead, which is weird because normally, when she's dancing with Brittany, she's the leader.

"That's why I'm wearing it." she smirks kind of to get a rise out of him.

He's amused. As always. Not even this old fart can change the mind of the goddess he created.

The music gets louder and the moves grow more rhythmical. Father and daughter kiss and hug before letting go of each other. That's when the pleasantries start. Santana and Brittany roam the place, saying hi and thanks to everyone that cleared their schedules to be there. Only Alexander Dubrov couldn't join them. He promised to make up for that later.

The hotel employees walk by, holding trays of little shots to hand out to the guests.

While passing each other briefly, the girls giggle over the busy night they are having. Brittany strokes Santana bare arm softly, to make sure she'll stop walking for a while. Its lingering touch makes Santana smile.

"Tequila tasting by the hotel." she says in a very serious voice, like it's a tragedy. "I'm afraid that after a few more shots, I'll want to go down on you in public. So keep an eye on me - and my bra."

But that aren't exactly things that get Brittany worried. In fact, part of her won't even mind.

"This is turning me on so badly." she whispers back.

Santana is holding one of the empty glasses she downed a couple of seconds ago. This shit is epic. Much better than the things you buy in stores.

"I could eat you." Santana confesses, while her eyes travel down Brittany's perfect body.

It sounds more like a promise. That cute, blue dress her wife is wearing isn't helping.

"Sexually or violently?" Brittany wonders.

The sparks in Santana's eyes don't lie. It flatters her wife to the level that she wishes someone would've overheard this conversation. Secretly, though, so she wouldn't have to talk about it.

"A little bit of both if you don't mind."

Brittany smirks: "I don't."

The fingers of the Latina caress the sensitive skin of Brittany's bare knees. They are sneaky enough to crawl upwards a little bit. Not that anyone around notices, though. But Brittany's nerves make her painfully aware.

"Stop turning me on, this is not the moment." Brittany stresses, suddenly realizing how hot she's getting.

"Oh come on, I have made it my duty to turn you on at the most inappropriate moments." Santana defends herself.

It's true, she's making a game out of it. One she's used to winning.

"You should have a little bit more respect for me." the blonde informs her with a teasing smile.

But Santana holds herself in high esteem: "Trust me, sometimes I have too much respect for you."

They end up sneaking away from their own wedding reception to make out in their hotel room. It's big, like, massively big and the romantic lighting sets the perfect mood for them to make love like newlyweds are supposed to. It might just be a simple ring and an official paper, but being married feels so good. It's like their entire connection grew even intimate. The panting grows heavier and the exotic temperatures nearly liquifies their skin as their tongues battle each other for dominance. Santana licks her wife from head to toe and experiences her perfect taste. She loves this, being so close to Brittany. It's not about the sex per se, it's more about the undisturbed sensation of their privacy. How the blonde's body keeps surprising her, time after time. She loves the expressions on Brittany's face when her fingers please her. She gets hypnotized by the sounds leaving the editor's mouth when she goes down on her. Their bodies are made to be this close to each other. It's magical how at ease they are in bed, how simple it is to please the other. Brittany cups Santana's face with both hands and uncontrollably grinds up to her wife's crotch. She loves the sight of the Latina on top of her. Every single time she moves, her body gets set into motion. The lighting - or lack of - throws shadows over her that make her look even more divine that she already is. Brittany has never had a better lover that Santana. No person even came close. Boy or girl.

The girls are nearly deafened by their own moaning and groaning. The tension building up inside of them starts to feel agonizing. Like they are about to explode with frustration, with sexual firework.

It feels so fucking good to make love to each other.

* * *

After their passionate expression of love and arousal, they climb under the sheets to cool off and regain their consciousness.

"That was …"

Santana is still panting. Brittany agrees by nodding.

"It was."

They lie closely for the next couple of minutes and caress each other's skin lovingly. Suddenly, the door of their room opens. It's granddad, confusingly on the search for the back-up battery of Santana's camera. He doesn't even really notice the girls. In fact, he could fool himself into thinking they are taking a nap if he did discover them. Santana sits up straight, in shock, and holds the sheets in place so her grandfather won't see too much of her - or her wife. She refrains from talking, though, while Nicholas just keeps going through some drawers with his back turned towards them. It's like he doesn't even mind that they are here.

Brittany has buried herself under the covers, close to bursting into hysterical laughter. But out of nowhere, Eli saves the day. He walks in, ignores the newlyweds - though he is well aware of their presence because he's covering his sight - and goes straight for his slightly intoxicated grandfather. After grabbing him by the hand, he drags him along towards the exit. Just before leaving the room, Eli's apologetic rambling takes place and that's when the girls' funny laughter appears.

"Oh, my God!" Brittany shrieks with joyful tears rolling down her cheeks.

* * *

**You guys, I gave them a wedding!**

**Just like in the show, they are _wives_ now. **

**I got a review last week about Brittany not really being into this thing, a typical 'Santana loves Brittany more than Brittany loves Santana' and that Britt didn't even give Santana a ring. To me, that's bullshit. If we know ANYTHING about these two, it's that they are CRAZY about each other. Why would I be writing hundreds of pages of fanfiction over them if I didn't believe that?**

**And for your information: this entire story has been finished for a while now. I just edit and overread the chapters right before I post them on FF (a fresh look always make me handle the story better). **

**When I read this chapter again, I learned how I unconsciously made Brittany the hero this time, so it's not like I tried to prove my reviewer wrong - I already did it weeks ago. After the proposal, now Brittany's the one making sure she's getting married to the love of her life, inviting their friends and family, taking charge. And this time, she has a ring for Santana!**

**I have seven more chapters left for you. Please, spread the word and let me know how you feel about them ;)**


	16. Again

**Again**

_2019_

* * *

Two agonizing weeks apart. It's enough to drive the girls crazy. Twenty six they are now. Three years of perfect marriage bliss. Apart from the four lost years, they cherish a lifetime of memories.

It has surprised them both how great married life is. How it only makes things easier on so many levels. Except being apart. That seems to get harder as time passes.

It's a different world to Santana right now. She stepped back from the constant traveling to roam every catwalk on this earth. Instead, she has started her own fashion brand. Photoshoots and campaigns still thrill her. They are the reason why the fashion industry and the modeling intrigues her so much, why she feels like an junkie when she hasn't worked in a while. But luckily, she has the luxury to take on some extra projects. For now, it's designing clothes. The best news is: people love it.

Brittany's the one that's doing most of the traveling nowadays. Last month, she was in New Zealand for two weeks, working on a movie. At best, they do most of the editing in a local studio downtown, close to the girls' apartment in Los Angeles. When Santana has a lot of meetings and gigs in New York, they organize their agendas and move over there for a while. It took them some time, but they managed to grow into a decent pattern concerning their careers. Like, around fashion high season - London and New York fashion week specifically - Brittany hardly ever accepts projects. And every time Brittany's really passionate about a movie or a new show, Santana allows her to chase that dream and only accepts as few jobs as possible.

Unfortunately, it doesn't always go perfectly. Like now. Brittany got sucked into a television project in Los Angeles which takes up a lot of her time, while Santana had to be in New York for thirteen days. Gladly, tomorrow she'll be reunited with her one true love and that's something she's crazy excited about. Her laptop is flipped open and after struggling with the WiFi connection for a while - and threatening to throw the router out the window - she finally sees Brittany's face popping up the screen. She's at the apartment in Los Angeles, wearing a cute, tiny pajama top. Her heart melts.

"My love!" Santana utters dramatically while holding both hands in front of the camera.

Brittany smiles sweetly and throws her a kiss. Her eyes sparkle. They always sparkle when they look at her.

"Hey," Santana immediately rushes in. "I've been thinking about something. Remember our first kiss?"

Brittany frowns in a confusing way and chuckles over the part when they skip the pleasantries. How was work? Do you miss me? What time will you be at the airport tomorrow? Nope, not important, so it seems.

"Yes." she decides to play along. "What about it?"

Santana, dressed in a casual jumpsuit - if you can call it casual - has put her feet up in a cross-legged position and supports her head with both fists. Not the most flattering pose, but it looks very cute.

"What were you thinking when you saw me looking at you like that?"

Her wife digs in her memories, but it doesn't take long before that night in the bar pops up somewhere. It was so random, that moment. But at the same time, it felt perfect.

"I don't know. I guess I was thinking: what if we kissed right now? Would it be great?"

They both know it was. Their smiles give it away.

"But … you could've backed away, gently turned me down. I would have acted as if I wasn't feeling rejected."

The cute, tough act amuses Brittany. Oh, Santana would've been crushed. She blows up her cheeks and shrugs, while the Latina watches her every move.

"I guess that, if I had, you'd always remained a 'what if'. I don't like those." the blonde admits.

Look at them now. Married, happy, successful.

"Well, I'm glad you let me kiss you back then." Santana decides, even though that goes without doubt.

"Me too."

The next ten seconds are being used to stare at each other in complete silence. Even after all those years, the look in their eyes just screams out how much they love each other.

"So, do you want to see my money box?" Brittany suddenly asks enthusiastically.

It makes her wife explode with laughter:"Is that a euphemism?"

Of course Santana will find something dirty in every single thing Brittany has to say.

But the blonde remains dead-serious: "No! God, no. Santana! I made a money box for a project for Luke. Remember the fundraiser?"

Normal people would feel a bit embarrassed right now. The Latina doesn't.

"Of course I do. Show it."

A proud Brittany holds the cubical piggy bank up in the air. She decorated it brilliantly. Santana doesn't understand why she did it, though. She could've easily bought one in the store. Brittany says it's an involvement thing.

"It's a nice box, but I've seen better." Santana teases her suggestively.

If the intonation wasn't obvious enough, the naughty smirk and eyebrow wiggle were. Brittany rolls her eyes and orders her to stop. It doesn't surprise her that her words mean nothing to her wife.

"Come on, babe. Don't you miss me? And these."

She points at her chest while wiggling her boobs. Brittany can't help but smile over the adorable face Santana is pulling.

"Of course I do. But this isn't the time to discuss that."

She stresses it in such a way that it confuses Santana.

"What do you mean? Aren't you feeling hot for me right now?"

Confidence has two ways to invade a person's characteristics. Annoyingly and charmingly. Santana pulls them off both with a common ease.

She's taken by full surprise when Eleanor pops up behind Brittany, though. Seems like her wife is having the in-laws over for dinner. Her cheeks turn as red as the devil's stereotypical outfit before she demonstrates a weak wave.

"Hi, Mrs. Pierce." she nervously chuckles while realizing it's weird to still call her that.

Brittany seems to enjoy it, though. Her vicious smile just can't stay hidden. Luckily, there's an easy way out while talking over some technology: it's cutting off the connection.

"Okay, babe. I have to go. Kathy will be here any minute."

She sighs, like it's killing her to say goodbye. In fact, it's killing her she's still staring at the disapproving face of her mother in law.

"Pick me up at ten. Thanks. Love you, bye."

She shuts the laptop with a smack that could've easily broken it. She's feeling utterly disgusted now. About having a dirty sexually-contained conversation with Eleanor in the room. Shivers run down her spine. For the first time in a bad way, despite the fact that it involves Brittany.

The doorbell rings and she couldn't be happier about being distracted for a second. Kathy McGrath to the rescue.

Her phone beeps. It's Brittany.

'Did you just hang up on me?'

* * *

The room is awfully quiet and uncosy. People around her are staring at her famous face. Santana doesn't like it one bit. Kathy made her come here. Not that she insisted. It was the conversation they had last week. Kathy was going on and on about her health issues. How she was feeling sick and exhausted. Her stomach was the problem, so it seemed. Santana didn't need a lot to figure it out. Rumor's always had it that Kathy is a big fan of the cotton ball diet. She's been doing it for years, in order to stay thin enough to keep modeling. When Santana brought it up, she had the courage to deny it for a solid hour. But no one can win an argument with the Latina. She sat the brunette down and stared into her gorgeous brown eyes. The girl had no other option but to listen.

"I've had _cancer_, remember? It thought me one thing: your health is the most important thing in life. You shouldn't be playing around with it. You are slowly killing yourself."

Kathy was brave enough to put up another fight: "I'm not -"

"Don't you dare to deny it." Santana hissed at her while interrupting immediately. "I know you are. And it's okay. You don't have to lie to me. But you need to get some help."

Kathy lowered her head and instantly started breathing heavier. She was feeling worse than ever. It had been going on long enough without any actual damage to her organs or blockages. But she couldn't challenge fate anymore. She was just done with it.

"Promise me, Kathy." Santana pleaded. "You've seen me at my worse. You've seen how I almost died. Promise me you'll be smarter than that. I don't want to go to your funeral."

Kathy's eyes cracked when she stared into hers. She promised.

And so the next day, after coming home, Santana went to Dr. Cullers' office. She has been feeling tired lately. Enough to make her worry. At first, it seemed like a shortage of vitamins or just the weather playing on her mood. But she saw the fear in Kathy's eyes and it suddenly reminded her of herself, all those years ago. She had to go visit the doctor that had helped. Because unlike last time, she needed to know if the worrying was justified.

She nervously sat on the creaking chair, staring straight in front of her, until she was allowed to enter the office. When Dr. Cullers saw her face, a smile appeared.

"My supermodel patient. Santana, how are you?"

The guy was captivated by her presence. Somehow, she might have been his proudest achievement.

It didn't take her very long before she explained what was going on. Nothing hurt, but there was this undeniable feeling that snuck up on her in the middle of the night. It couldn't be ignored.

"I'm tired again." Santana told him. "I'm tired and I have this friend who isn't taking care of herself. I don't want to be that person."

Dr. Cullers tried to calm her down with soothing words: "Being tired doesn't mean anything, Santana."

"I don't care." she said. "I want you to check me out. So I can be safe."

He heaved a deep sigh and put down the pen he was holding. Santana looked scared and insecure.

"Remember the first few months when you went into remission? You called Dr. De Weerdt every other minute, even when it was three a.m. in Belgium. Remember that?"

She nodded. Sure, back then it was a panic attack. She realized that.

"Yes. I'd feel sick or have a nose bleed or have a little grown-in hair and -"

"You'd think the cancer was back." he interrupts her. "And right now you're feeling anxious again because of this friend and that's okay."

But she shook her head very convincingly: "No, it's not. Because I'm a cancer patient. Every cough I'll have, every bit of headache, every sting after working out - I'll always think it's back. And there's always the possibility. So excuse me if I come in here, acting like a three-year-old every time I am feeling scared."

She lowered her head, contemplating the next thing she was about to say. The guy didn't understand.

"Guess what: you didn't have cancer." she uttered, while looking back up at him with watering eyes. "You don't know just how scared a person can get. So the least you can do is draw my blood and test it. And when the results are in, you can laugh at me all you want and tell me just how badly I'm overreacting. But right now I'm tired. And I need an answer."

* * *

David takes her to the next appointment. She asked him. A week has passed and Brittany has to work until later that evening. Santana didn't _lie_ about the doctor's appointment. She just slightly bended the motives and snuck in the little inconsistency that it was a regular check-up. Even after all these years, she just wants to protect her.

"What if it's bad?" David whispers, thinking of the worst-case scenario. "What are you going to do?"

Santana has thought about it. She shrugs and closes her eyes. Last time was such a blur.

"Well, I can't run away again."

David, who used to be the unbeliever, seems to have had a change of heart about her past actions: "Why not?"

The Latina's eyes linger over the gorgeous ring around her finger. Her wedding ring.

"Because I promised her." she whispers, just not soft enough so it would be lost to David's ears.

"I always wondered … how …"

She looks up to him and notices just how nervous he is. She's past that emotion. The fear of all of this being real again made her body feel paralyzed a few minutes ago. It faded.

"How what?"

"How did you know for certain that she's the love of your life? I mean, look at Eli and Jessy. They are expecting a baby and I have this amazing relationship with Julia. It's good. It's more than good. But how do you know you love someone? Because no matter what, you and Brittany - that's a whole other level to me."

Santana hears the word love and Brittany's face pops up. It's always been that way. When she sees her, a song starts playing in her mind. But she doesn't have a clue how someone else experiences it.

The people around her all subtly look over their magazines to assure themselves that Santana Lopez is sitting in the same room. It doesn't bother her, though. Not anymore.

"You know how we are both crazy about nachos and cheese dip, right?" she starts talking.

David stares at her and shakes his head: "Totally weird twist, but I'll go with it. Yes, you are ridiculously obsessed by it."

His cousin leans against the back of the chair and reminds herself of something: "Well, whenever we get to that last bit of the bag, when you have one piece of nacho left and … And there's just this one delicious drip of cheese sauce left."

She uses her fingers to reenact the scenario.

"Yes." David confusingly frowns.

The smile taking over Santana's face enchants him.

"She gives it to me. If that ain't true love, I don't know what is."

The model winks and at the same time, she realizes it makes no sense at all.

"No, seriously. It's easy, being with her. Sure, we fight sometimes, but who doesn't? We just come home every evening after work, we talk, we have dinner, we cuddle in the couch and go to sleep. To some, it might be boring, but it's the best part about my life. It means more than all those fake parties and events. Going home to her, to my one true love - it's exhilarating. It's the point of my life, why I was born and why I'll die. This girl makes me so happy that I can't even put it into words. She makes me smile, even when she's just sleeping right next to me. Or snoring. I dream about her, right after seeing her all day. And though it might never come to that, I wish, one day, she'll have my babies. So, you see, watching Finding Nemo and Mulan for the thousandth time in a row isn't sad or boring at all. It's the thing I live for."

It always overwhelms her cousin just how beautifully she can talk about the love of her life.

But at the same time, he disagrees, kind of to mock her: "Yeah … See, I don't really get that. I'd prefer the partying with models thing."

The receptionist surprises them by inviting Santana in. David promises to wait for her at the exact same spot. He holds her hand for a while, for encouragement. She heaves a nervous sigh - yes, it suddenly came back - and walks away from him.

The doctor's face isn't as joyful as the last time she came in. He looks a bit numb, honestly. After sitting down on his request, she recognizes that specific look in his eyes. It's been so many years, but it's a sight one never forgets.

"I'm sorry, Santana." he softly tells her, afraid to unleash the truth upon her.

Her heart stops beating and at the same time, she realizes her gut feeling was right again.

"It can't be back." she tells him, almost like she's saying a prayer. "It was cured. I'm in remission. NED, you said."

_No evidence of disease_. The doctor stands up to walk over to her. He sits down on the empty chair beside her. Brittany should be sitting there. Suddenly she realizes that her wife should've tagged along. Why does she always screw up like this?

"I'm sorry, Santana." Dr. Cullers repeats. "These things cannot be foreseen."

Tears build a wall in front of her eyes. All she's experiencing is anger and confusion. It's even worse than the first time. Because she's been through it all - for nothing it seems.

"But I'm so young." she gasps. "I've already survived this bitch once. I just got my life back together, I can't … I can't have cancer again. I gave up everything last time. Everything."

The desperation in her voice is loud enough to shake him up. This isn't the first time that one of his patients get this diagnosis. It kills him too see her like this.

"This is hard - not to mention unfair." he clears his voice after a second. "But you'll have to come in again this week so we can determine just how bad it is. See what type of treatment we should consider. We have to figure out your options."

Santana isn't facing him again. She just stares out the window in front of her. It's like this is an alternative dimension, just not an AA-meeting. It can't be happening. It just can't.

* * *

When she arrives at the apartment door, tears have turned her cheeks red. She put on some makeup in the car to cover it up as much as possible. The paparazzi couldn't see her all emotional. Luckily, no one was around. David, completely torn about the news, asked her if she needed him to be there, but she refused the kind offer. Brittany was waiting for her. She even prepared dinner. So now she has to walk through the door and tell her the truth.

"Hi, babe. Where have you been? I called your cellphone about ten times and you didn't pick up. I was starting to worry." Brittany talks aloud from the kitchen after hearing her come in.

It smells great in the room. It always does when Brittany decides to be a master chef for the evening. Cutely covered in cooking stains, the beautiful blonde appears in the living room area. It's dark, barely lit by some candles to make it romantic. Santana usually likes that, except now she doesn't even notice the gesture. Something tells her she has to fess up immediately, before she chickens out again. A heavy sigh makes her shoulders come up for a second.

"Can you - um - please sit down for a minute, babe." she nervously asks, while patting the soft pillows of the couch.

"Why? What's wrong." her cheerful wife wonders.

She walks over to Santana and notices the serious look on her face. Suddenly, her smile disappears. That look in her eyes, it terrifies her. Santana never looks at her that way. Has she been crying?

"It's … I have to tell you something. But you need to sit down." Santana explains.

She sits down as well, because something tells her that it'll be hard to completely destroy the perfection of their life with just a few words. She clears her throat and pats the pillows again. A confused Brittany decides to trust the aching feeling in her chest and the devastation that Santana's eyes expose. Her body sits down next to her wife. Their fingers entwine and Santana licks her upper lip a few times before she dares to open her mouth. It's awfully quiet in the apartment. Not even the kitchen noises seem to reverberate through the room anymore. Her heart is racing so fast that a sudden heart attack wouldn't surprise her at all. It's because of Brittany. Because of the worry in her eyes after looking into hers. She's going to tell her the most devastating news she'll ever hear. Something Santana fought so hard to protect her from.

"What is it?" the blonde anxiously chokes.

After another unspoken moment, the puzzling pieces of her talented mind come up with some scenarios. She feels just how sweaty Santana's hands are, how her cheeks are more red than usual. And the skin around her eyes looks irritated, like they've been rubbed a few times in the last couple of minutes. That's when she knows. That's when she starts crying. She shakes her head from right to left and utters the word 'no' six times, hoping that saying it out loud will make it true.

* * *

Chemotherapy will start in the morning. Santana can't believe it's all happening again. The last time, it almost killed her. She had to go through a long fighting process before the cancer finally gave up. And after so long, something tells her that the worst parts don't even appear in her memories anymore.

The family's really, really overcome by emotions about the news. There was always this small chance that it could come back. But life had been wonderful lately. The girls got married, they have amazing careers. The parents were secretly awaiting the moment when kids would pop up. Except it didn't happen. Cancer popped up again.

The Lopez pack probably dealt with the news the best. They've been through it before. Not like that makes it easier, but they have learned the hard way that fairness has nothing to do with this disease. Cancer is unbiased. It hits the poor or the rich. Black and white people. It sneaks up on children and the elderly. There's nothing that can assure you of your safety. Because there is none when it come to cancer.

"So." William whispers after spending the night at his daughter's place.

Santana looks up to him. They are the only ones left int the room. Brittany and her mother have gone to the bathroom. They are packing Santana's bags. Not like she can't do it herself, it's just that Brittany needs something to keep herself occupied with. The model asked her not to give up on her job. Just a few more weeks and the crew of her show gets some weeks off. In the meanwhile, working might be good for her. Santana is doing the same thing, actually. She asked Rick to fill the empty gaps around her hospital visits and only clear the schedule for the important time slots.

"Some people yell." her father in law resumes. "Some are being sarcastic or ironic. Some act like plain jerks. What's your coping mechanism?"

Maybe he's asking because he hasn't figured one out for himself yet. Santana remembers last time. She yelled at the nurses a lot in the beginning. Soon, she discovered they had nothing to do with it. They were there to help her. This time it's different. There are a lot of things to take under consideration.

"I cry a lot when the lights are out." she confesses while staring at the pictures on the cabinet next to her. "And when turn back on, I wipe the tears away and get through the day."

William nods and remains silent for a while before he even dares to ask: "For Brittany?"

A soft smile takes control of Santana's face and she looks back at him. That's when she proves him right.

"For Brittany."

After Eleanor and William nearly hug her to death, they promise to pay her a visit as soon as possible in the hospital. She'll be in there for a whole month, just like last time. No hair, no energy, no resistance to throw up. She remembers.

"So, let's do something." Brittany suggests while dragging her wife along to the bedroom.

She has packed the bags. They are ready to be thrown into the car first thing in the morning. George will pick them up, because Brittany has better things to do than drive a car. She's needs to hold her wife's hand and kiss her repeatedly. Santana's orders.

"Tomorrow's your first big chemo day and that means it's your last day as a free, careless person - or something like that. We can do whatever you want, just pick a thing: a lifelong dream, a secret wish, a nice dinner at your favorite restaurant, a …"

She can't come up with anything else, though. Her courageous act helps Santana deal with the news. At first, she wanted to do nothing else but cry. But it took her a day before realizing that doesn't help at all. And it certainly won't encourage the Latina to be strong.

"Stop." Santana tells her while squeezing the flesh of the blonde's hand. "I just want to stay here, with you, staring into your eyes and make love to you … And possibly in a really creepy way end up crying as I watch you fall asleep. That's my big wish. Is that okay?"

It makes Brittany shut up immediately. She nods and feels her heart beating like crazy. Tomorrow scares her like crazy. In fact, it's the scariest thing she has ever faced.

"Sure." she nervously agrees.

After crawling into bed, they put on a black and white movie. Brittany lovingly strokes Santana's arm while paying attention to the characters. Her wife refrains from reading some fashion blogs on her tablet. She's enjoying this way too much. Tomorrow weirdly doesn't scare her as much as it should. Maybe it's because this time, Brittany's with her. Maybe it's because all of this might turn out better than she expected. Maybe she's just being an idiot. She looks up and sees that beautiful creature she can call her wife. What if this ends badly? What if Brittany …

Out of nowhere, panic smashes her peaceful feeling her like a hammer. What is she even thinking? Last time was horrible. It was devastating. Every part of her body hurt and even if she felt better for a second, the nausea hardly ever disappeared. A rag doll had more energy than she did. And at times, she almost prayed to die.

"I don't know if I can do this again, Brittany. Last time … It was so hard." she bravely admits to the love of her life while her heart's pounding in her throat.

Brittany pauses the movie and crawls even closer to her than she assumed was possible. Her arms are comfortingly wrapped around the perfection that is her spouse.

"Well, I don't know how it was last time." she honestly admits. "But I'm here now, okay? So now, you'll have to show me. Show me the lead and I'll be strong _for_ you. You don't have to be the hero all the time. I can do that too."

Santana nods against her chest, but can't help but sobbing suddenly.

"I'm scared, babe." she breathes against her pajamas.

"I know, sweetie." Brittany tells her, trying hard to hide the trembling in her voice. "I'm scared too. But I'm here. I'll take care of you. I'll protect you."

Something orders her to keep up this tough act. Because if the fierce Victoria's Angel can't even be positive about this anymore, how will her falling apart help?

"Protect?" Santana surprises herself by suddenly finding the strength to mock her personal scaredy-cat. "You jump five feet off the ground when you hear a noise in the apartment."

It feels so great that the atmosphere has shifted in no time. This is one thing that Brittany can do: tease and mock and play along to cover up the actual feelings.

"I've manned up over the years." she defends herself. "I keep hidden knives in dark corners. I am not afraid to use them."

Santana raises her head and expresses the level of disbelief that statement ignited inside her. Her wife hesitates momentarily and shrugs.

"Okay, maybe a little."

* * *

A month has gone by with the speed of a turtle that lost two of his two very, very slow feet. It dragged himself all the way to the finish line and decided to take some pit stops along the way. Brittany is exhausted, but that's nothing compared to Santana. The stuff they injected her with nearly killed her. It has terrified Brittany just how fragile her wife can be. It's true: the model has always been the strong one. But at the start, she was nothing more than bones and skin, throwing up constantly, losing her hair and faintly losing hope. Her temper surprisingly survived the chemo. Everyone in the near environment of Santana had to endure the amount of rage coming from the hopeless feeling that invaded the young, successful supermodel. She couldn't cope with being so helpless.

So of course Brittany's happy to see her wife a little bit more healthy again. Not that it's over yet. This first phase was part of a periodical treatment plan. She'll have to return in a couple of weeks for part two. Just not this long.

As George grabs the bags off the floor to transport them to the car, he finds his courageous daughter. The pride he feels while looking at her cannot be described. The disbelief that this has struck her twice just as well.

"What are you plans, kiddo?" he wonders. "You can't go back to work, you know that right."

Of course she does. Even if she wanted to, her body wouldn't let her. Walking from one part of the room to the other almost feels like an Olympic achievement. Going up and down the stairs isn't even an option yet. She'll need to recover. Just like last time, it'll take a lot of sleep and exercise to regain her strength. Patient - not exactly her best quality.

Brittany strokes her hair and kisses the pale hand that's holding hers. It's time: Santana can go home now. She's in the wheelchair, ready to be pushed all the way to the car. Even breathing can take its toll sometimes, but that won't stop Santana from trying.

"There's something I really need to be getting done as soon as I'm allowed to the house again." she tells her father. "My list."

He looks up to her and that makes his bald head reflect the bright lights. He remembers: the bucket list she wrote down last time. It was weird and made no sense and complete sense at the same time.

"What do you mean?" Brittany asks while crawling behind the wheelchair to push it into motion.

Santana leans her head back until it reaches the moving muscles of Brittany's stomach. She loved every second that Brittany was in here with her. The blonde stayed every night, uncomfortably sleeping on a pliable bed right next to her. Each and every time Santana had to throw up, she held the little tray to stop her from spilling, no matter how disgusting it was or how loud Santana yelled at her to back away. And she went to work, like she promised, to get distracted from time to time while Santana slept through most of the day. Truth is, Brittany's been her absolute rock and Santana realizes how hard this must have been for her. There will never be enough words to thank her. And it ain't even over yet.

"I have a bucket list." Santana explains, while panting.

Getting up from bed and into the chair was exhausting. But Brittany wants to hear all about it. She can get enthusiastic when her wife talks about future plans. It's what keeps her hopeful that Santana won't give up easily.

"Get arrested once. Kiss in the rain. Get a puppy. Have a …"

She stops halfway through her well thought-through vision of a perfected bucket list to stare at her father hesitantly, but realizes he read it in Belgium, when he though she was asleep.

"Have a threesome." she resumes whispering for a second.

George is happy to act as if he didn't hear her say that.

"Get married. Milk a cow. Get a tattoo and die in the arms of the one I love."

The last one comes as a surprise to Brittany, definitely given the circumstances, but she decides to focus on the cheerful aspects.

"Well, you've done a few." she tells her, bending over to get close enough to Santana's ear.

She kisses the temple that has no hair on it anymore. The blonde suggested to shave off her own the second Santana started to lose her hair, out of solidarity. But the Latina threatened to kill her if she did.

"Because," she said, "unlike me, you will be extremely ugly with no hair."

It made Brittany laugh, because of course it was a joke. Still, it was said terrifyingly enough to reconsider.

George looks over to them and softly smiles: "Which ones?"

His curiosity quickly backfires, because what if his little girl answers 'the threesome'. It's something he definitely doesn't want to know about. Santana reads it off his face and starts smirking for the first time in a while.

"I got married, I think." she says all sassy.

Brittany flashes him the shinny ring around her finger and adorably mouths the words 'to me'.

"The puppy. Though, David has it now."

Oh, yes. She wanted a puppy last year. Brittany refused to, because they had no time for any sort of living creature at the moment. Santana was traveling around the world, only to come back and find Brittany in another city for some project. Even their plants died. But the second the model secretly snuck in an adorable, to-die-for Labrador, Brittany's objections vaporized immediately. That face was just too cute. Might have been cuter than Santana's when she proudly introduced him to her. They named the blond beauty Calvin.

One thing Brittany did insist on, though: no puppy in bed - under no circumstance. It was unhygienic, inconsequent to raise him properly and she knew how it would end: the little brat would destroy their perfect sex life in weeks. Santana agreed after getting tired of the nagging spree her wife went on. Few things were sacred to her, but her amazing lesbian affaires with Brittany were one of them. All day long, Brittany turned out to be the strict doggy-owner. While Santana aloud the little devil to do everything, Brittany took him out for walks and disciplined him whenever he was being naughty.

But when Santana decided to call it a night, later on, she found Brittany asleep on the left side of the bed already. Little Calvin was spread across her chest. It took her more than life itself to not wake her and laugh to her face, but she refrained from being vindictive and crawled next to the perfect pair to fall asleep as well.

Turned out Santana was allergic. The next day, she had little red dots all over her body and the sneezing never seemed to stop. David offered to take care of Calvin. He moved in with Julia a few months before and started feeling lonely when she was out for the job. Little blogger boy needed some company.

George smiles over the story. He remembers well how Santana freaked out over the photoshoot she had to cancel because of the allergic reaction. Every single vase in the apartment ended up broken and chattered in the dumpster that night.

"That's it?" Brittany wonders out loud, barely even recalling what the entire list was.

Santana shakes her head and passes the cosy room where all the nurses have gathered to drink coffee. Most of them walk into the hallway to wish her a pleasant recovery. She tried really hard to be more civilized to these caretakers this time around. Sometimes it was hard - a sick person close to giving up loses it once in a while. Like she said: people with cancer can be assholes. But they did a lot for her. They cleaned up her puke and washed her fragile body each time Brittany couldn't be there.

From the bottom of their hearts, George and his girls thank them. Afterwards, they leave.

"Remember when we kissed in the rain, babe?" Santana asks her wife.

It was during fashion week in Paris. The weather was shit. It rained all day and all night, even though Santana had a different opinion about it.

"It's snowing." she said when she looked up at the sky.

But Brittany wasn't so sure about it. Snow was supposed to be flaky and big. This was just wetness drowning them.

"That ain't snow." she said.

Santana made her stop, clearly not the best idea when passing through a storm, and objected: "Really? Then what is it? Obese rain?"

Brittany rolled her eyes over the dramatical reply and scoffed: "God, the things you come up with."

But just as she had said it, Santana eyes lightened up, like she had an idea or something.

"I've always wanted to kiss in the rain. We did a lot of things, but we've never done that."

As she said it, her so called snow transformed back into a pouring sensation of water. The streets were empty for a change. Not even the original Parisians felt happy about facing this weather. Brittany hesitated, since she was dying to catch a hot shower and go to bed, but it seemed to mean a lot to the love of her life and so she gave in. Santana closed the gap between them and put both hands on Brittany's cheek. Her eyes rolled up and down the blonde's gorgeous face and an enchanting smile proceeded the passionate smooch she laid on Brittany's lips. The kept it up for about a minute, while the scent of a wet city and the loud noise of splashing raindrops interrupted the romantic fantasy. Santana was the first one to pull back from the kiss and started laughing uncontrollably.

"Well, this is a lot colder and inconvenient than it shows in the movies." she concluded.

Her editor genius spit out some of the water that had invaded her mouth and shook her head disapprovingly.

"I think a fly just drowned in my mouth." she admitted.

Santana sits up in her wheelchair and pulls a weird face: "Not our finest hour."

Her wife parks the wheels next to the passenger door of their jeep and agrees.

"Don't worry, sweetie." she soothes her. "We still have a couple of your desires left to fulfill. They will be perfect."

* * *

**Okay, don't shoot me here. This has ALWAYS been the intention of the story and I know it's been all lovely and naughty up until this point. But remember my rambling a few chapters ago? How my life has been affected by this disease on several occasions? Well, this is exactly what I wanted to achieve with AA-meetings. People get cancer at the most random moments in their lives. They get it on their 5th birthday, or right after they had a child. **

**And it's unfair.**

**And it sucks.**

**But it's life.**

**What are your thoughts about it? Please, don't hold back on it ;)**

**PS: I have a lot of people reviewing/asking me questions and I LOVE answering them, but if you're signed in as a guest, I can't reply them.**


	17. Achievement

**Okay, okay. So I've been getting a lot of responses to the last chapter and I completey understand it. I mean, it came out of nowhere, right? But that's why I love it so much. A lot of people said they were reluctant to continue reading if Santana was going to die. Now, I don't want to say yes or no, because maybe some people would like to be surprised (and not spoiled). So if you want to know, PM me and I'll answer you in all honesty. All I can say is that I hope you trust me and this story. And that you won't be disappointed (at least, that's what I wish for).**

* * *

**Achievement **

_2019_

* * *

"Are you sure this is, like, hygienically safe for you to be here?" Brittany asks while throwing a terrified look around.

She remembers the hematologist saying something about keeping clear from environments that could make her sick. A farm definitely could make you sick if you touch just enough animals.

She walks through the sand on high heels and it's not comfortable. Why are they even here? Seriously, the blonde can't remember ever setting foot on an actual animal-keeping, wheat-growing, dungarees-acceptable farm.

Santana mocks her words and drags her along to one of the stables. They took a three hour drive to get here. She will not be bothered by what Dr. Cullers ordered her to do.

"Stop whining. Help me get in here." she orders the blonde while pointing at a big barn-door.

Now the thing is, Brittany's not the model-ish type like Santana. She doesn't get a manicure two times a week or spends an hour in the bathroom before leaving the house to get a simple cup of coffee. She does, however, wish not to touch anything that might have animal feces on it. But one look at her wife and the memory of her excruciating battle the last few months comes flashing in front of her eyes. She lays her hand on the door handle and pulls it open like it's nothing.

Santana's hair is slowly starting to grow back. The dose of pills she's getting now is kinder and her body seems to react less aggressive. Still, she's wearing a wig. Santana can't stand walking around with her fluffy hair. She's way too proud to show her illness to the world. Brittany lets her. If this makes her feel even the slightest bit better, so be it. If milking a freaking cow will make her happy, she'll do it - and she'll fucking smile while being at it.

The farmer, an old fart with way too much love for mother Nature, welcomes them and Santana just explodes from joy. His hair is grey and messed up. Must be from working all day.

"Hello, girls. Are you Santana, the girl that called me last night?"

The delight on her face is worth a million dollars. This might be the first person in years that doesn't recognize her immediately. She decides to keep her fame a mystery and nods, completely settling in to the unanimous lifestyle.

"Yes. I would love for you to teach me how to milk a cow." she proudly announces.

It is, without a doubt, the craziest thing that ever came out of her mouth and Brittany starts laughing secretively. The farmer takes it serious, though, and takes her hand as he guides the overly-dressed model through the stables that are covered in hay and straw. Brittany stands by and watches the spectacle from a distance. She is not feeling this whole reconnecting to nature thing. Not with everything that's going on. Not with finding the good moments in between the mood swings Santana's treatment automatically triggers.

"Really, Santana?" she scoffs while noticing that her wife is more than excited about it.

Somehow, she always doubted the determination when it came to actually going through with this part of her bucket list. Why? You don't see a supermodel crawling under a cow every day, do you? Santana winks at her and gestures to come and help.

"Do you really want me to milk a cow, babe?" she jokes while closing the gap between them as if she's walking on fire. "How gay must you be to be wanting to pull a bunch of nipples at once?"

The farmer seems less conservative than expected, because he secretly smiles over the comment. After a few explaining instructions, Santana is up. Time to fulfill that dream. The second she puts her fingers on the soft udder of the giant beast standing next to her, she shrieks with excitement.

This is one of these moments in life when she realizes just how girly and gibberish a woman is capable of getting. The cow moves a feet and Brittany jumps aside, slightly fearing for her life. The farmer tries to assure her, but it's not really helping.

"How do you come up with these things?" Brittany wonders out loud when she decides to have a try at it as well.

It's weirdly soothing to be this close to nature. The second she lays her hands on the teats, she stops herself from comparing them to Santana's, because that's just way out of line. Instead, her best attempts prove to be very successful. There's milk. And it's actually a great experience.

"I have cancer cells floating through my entire body." Santana tells her so at ease it could've been a joke. "It works in mysterious ways. Sometimes I see pink elephants."

She's bend over and levels Brittany's head. They stare at the cow's udder and realize just how absurd this situation is.

"Really?" Brittany asks her while licking her upper lip, all concentrated.

She knows a lot about the things that are going through the Latina's mind. They talk for hours about the treatment and the effects that the illness has on her body.

But it turns out that the model's just joking: "No, I wish."

* * *

Another week at the hospital has gone by. It was easier. Dr. Cullers has been video chatting with Dr. De Weerdt in Belgium and they decided to try a milder form of chemo for the next couple of weeks. It was a pleasant change for Santana, because she feels a lot better than last time. But that doesn't change the fact that she ends up being moody. Fighting cancer is hard either way. It's never a fucking joke. Sadly, that translates to the direct group of friends and family.

On her way out of the hospital, she refuses to sit down in a wheelchair. Brittany charmingly tries to talk her into it, but it backfires. Everything always backfires lately. It's frustrating. Neither George, nor David is there to help the supportive Brittany. She sights annoyingly. It's getting harder and harder not to lose her patience, but the second her frustration is about to erupt, she looks at her wife and witnesses the physical destruction that has hit her. And then she calms down. Because she'll never win when it comes to moral reasoning.

"Shall I carry the bag?" she softly proposes after noticing how much Santana is struggling just by walking across the room.

She's exhausted, but of course, there's no way in life she'll ever admit to it.

"No." Santana refuses, as predicted. "I'm fine carrying a bag."

But Brittany acts as if she hasn't heard the response and walks out of the room with the heavy piece in her hands. Santana is quick enough to follow her and confront her with the obvious ignoring that's going on.

"Give me the bag." she orders her wife, immediately angered.

But Brittany says it's fine. It really it. Besides: it'll be too heavy for Santana. It's just something she'll never say out loud, because that'll ignite a giant, vase-throwing fight.

They make their way through the hospital with a nagging Santana barely able to catch her breath after a few minutes. Brittany keeps telling her she's okay with carrying it for her.

"Give me the damn bag!" Santana suddenly shouts from a distance.

It startles Brittany and her body stops moving immediately. Frustration is one of those feelings that haven't left their bodies ever since they discovered the illness again. Santana is much more expressive about that.

People are staring at them. Some recognize the famous model and notice just how sick she's looking. Also, they learn that there's a fight going on. The blonde's had enough of the aggressiveness sneaking up on her relationship and drops the bag with a loud bang.

"Fine." she tells her all worked up. "Carry your own damn bag."

Santana walks over to her, picks it up very confidently and suddenly feels the weight. But stubborn as she is, she starts making her way towards the front door. The tension can be read off Santana's shoulders, though. She's moving in a stiff way, determined to hang on. It's heavy. Too heavy for her to handle. It takes her a few seconds before it gets too much and she painfully gets confronted with her lack of energy. A couple of months ago, this would've been the easiest job in the world. Up until that moment, she visited the gym nearly every day and pressed the benches like a pro.

Her fingers search for the support of a nearby reception desk. Her body is caving in. There's a decision to be made: carry on or fall apart. Brittany has stopped moving the second Santana yelled at her. She's watching her from a distance and painfully awaits the next phase of the radically proud behavior. She desperately wants to believe that the Latina can do this. So desperately it makes her heart pound. But they both know she can't.

When Santana drops the bag and moves on like it isn't important to take home, she does it with such faked flair that bystanders don't notice a thing. Of course the blonde does. She sees the embarrassment flowing from her small posture. And so she swallows her own pride and resumes the chase of her wife, only to bend over and pick up the bag on her way out. She throws it in the back of the car and takes place behind the steering wheel. When she looks to the person seated on the passenger spot, Santana's ashamed and disappointed face breaks her heart. Tears get wiped away as quickly as they appear. Brittany turns the key around and drives home - without saying a word. That night, Santana falls asleep in Brittany's arms.

* * *

Everything leads to the point that Santana can't stop wondering about life after all of this. Make no mistake: she's determined to fight. Despite her bad behavior - she's well aware of how she's treating everyone around her, it's just that she can't help it - she's fighting for the ones she loves. Because a life with all her friends and family, that's the most precious dream to her. Forget the modeling, forget the photoshoots and the fame. Her love for Brittany, her bond with her pack of wolves, they matter. They are _all_ that matters. It's just that this venom inside of her brings out the worst of her personality. It numbs the compassionate aspect, the part where she's supposed to be grateful until infinity. And man, does it spark her bitchy side.

George comes over to keep an eye on his weakened daughter while Brittany's at work. She'll be gone for a few hours. He doesn't mind having some alone time with his little girl. She spends most of the day on her tablet or smartphone. She switches channels every other second because she gets bored or video chats with her model friends who have a minute to kill in between shoots.

"How are you feeling, kiddo?"

She leans back and pushes off the blanket To her, that's an achievement.

George's been through all of this with her before. Now it's different. Now Brittany's here to take over a huge part of his responsibilities. His little girl is not the same girl that lay her fragile body in his strong daddy-arms when she was at her worst in Belgium. She's married now. Married and acting like a complete bitch to her precious wife, but that's actually part of the process. George tried to explain it to his daughter-in-law earlier. How Santana even dared to yell at him until he walked out of the room crying when it happened the first time. How he didn't like it, but endured it anyway.

"Daddy. Sit down, please." she asks him, patting softly on the empty spot next to her. "I want to ask you something."

He does as he's told and gently strokes her skinny leg in a loving way while she rinses her mouth.

"Tell me about mom, please. I wonder … I can't stop thinking about what's next." she starts nervously.

The mom part was always pretty simple to her. She died after Santana was born. George always told her what a beautiful spirit she had and how she looks so much like her. Pictures prove him right. He lowers his bald head and takes a deep sigh. She is craving for some answers now. Craving to know what her mom will be like when she dies.

"Do you think she'll like me?" she softly asks.

It's the thing that keeps her up at night. Because she knows just how crazy Brittany is about her. And she has experienced the support and love from her family ever since she was born. But her mom is the one person she never had a chance to impress - the woman remains a mystery.

George's eyes flare up and he demonstrates a charming smile: "She won't like you, Santana. She'll _love_ you."

But her hand quickly grasps on to his sleeve, like she's about to explode with fear and anxiety.

"I'm afraid to die, dad. I'm so afraid to die. Last time, I … I thought about it and it scared me. But now."

She isn't even looking at him. Her eyes are focussed on the pictures on the nearby cabinets. The AA-meetings.

"Now it's, like, life has too much to offer to let go. And I'm not getting a lot better. My blood values are not going up and I'm scared to leave all of this behind. To leave Brittany. I can't leave her again."

He puts his hand on hers and sighs. Not even this professor has the words to soften the fear that's rushing through her mind.

"There's something you need to know. I never told you this, but before your mom and I got pregnant from you, we had a miscarriage." George surprises her with a secret from the past.

It's like he needs to tell her now before it's too late. Because he understands the feeling his daughter has when she's thinking about Brittany. He felt the same about her mom. And now he's feeling that way about her. Santana is thrown off for a while and can't do anything but look at her father.

"It was a baby boy. We were going to call him Emilio. But sadly, he wasn't meant for life on this earth, and passed straight on to heaven. At that time, David was about to be born. And your aunt Jen hadn't passed yet. Everything was so different from what it is now. So surreal, looking back. Everyone was happy, the worse thing that had ever happened to us was losing that little boy of ours. So when we got pregnant again, I was so ecstatic. So out of my mind happy that we got offered another chance. And then you were born and your mother got sick. And instead of being simply, normally, just perfectly happy," he says with his hand stretched out, like the memory is there to grab, "I was torn between devastation and utter joy. I lost your mom that day. I lost the love of my life, but in return her magnificence got traded with exactly the same thing: you."

Santana never really heard her father say a lot about her mother's dead. And when he did, he normally explained it to her in a PhD-format, with thought-through life lessons hidden underneath the surface and a monotonous tone. But now he's finally done filtering his emotions out of his memories and she's the receiver. His shaking hands make her taste tears in her mouth. It makes her throat dry as hell. Her father's too carried away to notice.

"I accepted your mother's loss by picturing your birth as the … the purpose of life for me. I'd raise you to be a good girl, be a fun dad, have meaningful conversations with you and order you to read a book once in a while. I'd love you, no matter what, because that's what your mom would've done. You were the purpose of my life. And now you're …"

"You can say it, daddy. I'm dying."

He swallows deeply while attempting to nod so strongly that it looks abnormal. She's not allowed to say that to him. There's still a chance. Though he has to accept: it has crossed his mind on occasions.

"And I don't know what to think of it now. There's nothing to _understand_ after you'll be gone - to justify the loss. I'll have no son, no wife and no daughter and that's the scariest thing that ever crossed my mind."

The young girl in front of him has no words to utter, not even a silly 'I know', and gets worried for a second. If even she doesn't know what to respond anymore, how can anyone else? The only logical thing that eventually crosses her mind, after rational consideration, is putting her arms around his aging neck. The second she does, the sound of his deep inhalation deafens her ears temporarily. She's daddy's little girl. That has always been part of her purpose of life.

"So you see, you have to survive this. Because apart from Brittany, there are other people that need you to live. So promise me you'll fight." he whispers near her face.

She nods and promises without saying a word.

"I wish we could go back to you pushing the swing." she sighs through warm tears. "Everything was just so …"

He can't even describe the simplicity of things back then. It all came so naturally that nobody even stopped and thought about it.

Her dad understands what she's talking about, though: "I know."

Later that night, Brittany arrives at the apartment and George heads home after tenderly kissing his daughter's forehead a few times in a row. The Latina walks him out, though it exhausts her. Just a few more weeks and she should feel better. At least, that's how it went last time.

The emotions he displayed today have shaken her up completely. There's no way out but crying. She needs to, now that he's gone. Brittany's in the bathroom, changing into something more comfortable and trying to get rid of the stress of work today. Secretly, she's so happy to go there every day. Because it makes her stop thinking and worrying about Santana for just a few hours. She feels normal, for just a moment. Is it selfish? She wonders a lot. Her friends say it isn't, but that doesn't make the feeling go away.

When she walks out of the room and into the living room area, she notices Santana leaning against the doorway where she kissed her father goodnight a few minutes earlier. She stops walking immediately and counts the tears that roll down the goddess' cheeks. It breaks her heart. Santana realizes she's near and puts a hand in front of her mouth to cover up her weeping face. But nothing can stop her wife to walk over to her and offer a shoulder to try and soften the emotional roller coaster that's taking control of her life right now. Because Brittany can't handle seeing her cry. She can't handle feeling helpless and unnecessary. If her tight hugs and loving soothing might help her cope with whatever that's going on just a little bit, it'll make her feel like a hero.

* * *

When Brittany gets home from the airport, she's worried sick. Santana hasn't answered her text messages in hours. She and Susan had to go to Boston for two days, just to figure out some casting problems of the show they're working on. Santana forced her to go. She told her it'd be good for her. In all honesty, the model has been feeling a lot better lately. Her skin looks less pale, her eyes sparkle again and the level of energy inside her small body seems to have gotten an upgrade. It pleases her a lot to see Santana like this. So, just to make her happy, she went. The last flight up, the earliest flight back.

As soon as she's opening the door, there's loud music blasting through the air. She runs over to the sound installation and presses the mute button, only to stare around the emptiness of the place seconds later. What the hell is going on?

"Santana?" she shouts.

Suddenly, the model appears, wrapped in some weird combination of sweats and tank tops. Nobody could ever tell she's wearing a wig. It's the exact replica of her own hair. That makes her look gorgeous as always, even with the illness radiating off her makeup-free skin.

"Brittany!" she enthusiastically shrieks. "Hi!"

It's clear she's having a good day today. But the blonde stares at her patiently and doesn't say a word, even after Santana runs over to her to passionately kiss her on the mouth. The Latina wraps her arms around her wife's body and softly moans when they part. It's pure joy. Then, she steps back and starts pointing out just how great she's feeling. Her eyes are widely opened and the smile she's carrying is dazzling.

"I danced in my underwear across the living room today." she tells her. "Tried to do that Tom Cruise thing on my socks, but I fell. I'm okay now."

Brittany's shocked by how much sugar rush is happening in front of her. The speed of Santana's words almost makes her dizzy. Before she can comment on any of that new information, Santana starts rambling again. In the meanwhile, she's pacing back and forth the place, like she's on speed or something.

"And I played hot lava - _might_ have accidentally knocked over a few lamps during the game. Oh, and _then_ I ate ice cream on the kitchen floor until I almost had to throw up."

Her words express so much pride that it makes Brittany giggle.

"Without me?" she asks insulted.

But Santana doesn't even respond. She just remembers the thing that came next.

"Oh, and I got a tattoo."

That makes Brittany's jaw drop. _What_ did she just say?

"I'm bored." Santana suddenly realizes, while nervously looking around. "Let's have sex."

But Brittany's stuck in her last confession: "You got a what? Are you kidding me? When?"

She walks over to her over-active lover and makes her stop moving.

"This morning, with Silvie! It was awesome, I almost fainted. I feel so badass."

"You just contradicted yourself in one stroke of air." Brittany informs her.

But Santana just smiles. For fuck's sake, she _smiles_. For a second, the blonde is compelled to ask whether or not Silvie - AKA the notorious drug addict - has slipped her a pill or two, but the trust she has in her wife stops her from doing so. This is the ice cream talking. Santana hasn't had any sugar in weeks. At least, not this much at once.

She's not mad about the tattoo. Well, at least not a lot. It's probably not even the right time to yell at her or something. It'd be rude, ruining Santana's great day.

"What is it?" she wonders out loud.

Santana puts both hands on Brittany's neck and kisses the side of her lips softly before the explanation begins.

"Well, it's a very symbolical warrior princess surrounded by a lot of dates."

"Dates?" Brittany wonders.

"Yes. When I first found out I had cancer, the day we got married and the day I found out I should enjoy every single moment like it could be my last. I'll use that last one as a valid argument as to why I didn't call you during this spontaneous epiphany."

Brittany carries an evil smirk while crossing her arms amusingly: "Oh, I see, first use of the cancer card, isn't it?"

"Yes." Santana admits while dramatically closing her eyes and pressing her lips tight. "And I'm not ashamed of it. In fact, there will be many more shameless incidents."

Her wife heaves a doubtful sigh and doesn't question it.

"Smart ass. All right, let me have a look at this … side effect of your chemo."

Santana starts jumping around and subsequently starts lowering her sweatpants until her panties appear. The curiousness inside of Brittany starts to grow.

"You'll be pleased," the model assures her, "I put it on a very sexy spot."

It's like she's waiting for Brittany to make the discovery on her own. Lately, there hasn't been a lot of sexy times for the girls. In between the hospital visits and constantly being sick, sex wasn't a priority, for neither of them. But Santana can't shake the memories of how well they work together in bed, how Brittany's touch can lighten the most severe pain. She pulls her wife closer to erase the gab between them and kisses her long and deep. Brittany's desire starts to grow and she coughs to regain consciousness for a while.

"Are you sure about this?" she asks, picking up the pieces and putting them together.

Santana's lips travel down her face and they lick and suck on Brittany's collarbone until she starts gasping for some fresh air. Her teeth leave red marks on her skin.

"You know, that's the most beautiful jumpsuit I've ever seen. Let's get it on the ground as quickly as possible." the dark-haired beauty suggests.

Brittany chuckles and walks her back to the couch.

"You really think you're hilarious, don't you."

"Shut up, you think so too."

She unbuttons the jumpsuit and steps out of it. Before lying down next to her lover, Brittany grabs a pen out of her purse. She hands it over to Santana, who has already stripped down to her underwear, and orders her to write something on her hip.

"Like what?" Santana asks all surprised.

Brittany lays down on top of her and while grinding suggestively against Santana's core, she kisses her so passionately that both their lips turn white. The girl is skinnier than ever, but no other person in the world can take the place of 'Most Gorgeous' in Brittany's mind.

"Like how you feel about me now?" she elaborates. "But nothing too dirty."

She sits back up and watches the sexual frustration shoot through Santana's body like a fever. The Latina takes a moment to think about an appropriate description and starts writing gently on the soft skin of her wife.

'I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always. As long as I'm living, my baby you'll be.' it says when Brittany looks down on it.

Robert N. Munsch's words. Words she had read to her a long time ago, late at night, in bed. The Latina remembered them. A heart-warming feeling of love takes over and she's close to tearing up after rereading it a second time.

"I'm going to that tattoo parlor tomorrow and I'm going to order them to tattoo this handwritten message on me. I want you on me." Brittany explains.

Touched by the idea, Santana travels her fingers over the text gently. But then the look in her eyes shifts and she regains her naughty stare.

"And I want you _in_ me." she playfully replies.

* * *

Exhausted after the lovemaking, they fall asleep. It happens a lot that Santana barely opens her eyes during the day. When it's bad, Brittany is right next to her, to spend an eternity in bed. There's no sexuality involved, just the fact that they're together, even if it's just to sleep or cuddle.

An hour later, Santana wakes up, alone. She hears Brittany in the distance, singing under the shower. The girl is trying really hard to maintain the pen print of Santana on her skin, so she's washing everything but that place on her hip. Santana listens to the sound of the singing. Magical. Today was simply magical.

It'll be short-lived, this perfect bliss. Next week is the next part of the treatment. She'll be in hospital for at least three days. But that's not right now, or right here. And right now and right here are perfect. Her eyes travel down her skin. There's a blanket draped over her naked body. She crawls up and suddenly realizes that her body hasn't fully recovered yet. Walking around on a sugar rush is one thing, having passionate sex like bunnies is another. She yawns and stretches out, until something catches her attention. It's her boobs. And something on them.

'Thanks for fucking my brains out. Love, Brittany.'

Her eyes flare up to the pen that's on the coffee table next to her. She starts laughing enthusiastically and shakes her head as if she can't believe Brittany did that do her in her sleep.

* * *

"Peggy died." Santana softly mumbles after putting down the phone she's held against her ear for ten minutes.

Brittany looks up from her laptop and momentarily escapes the television world: "Who?"

"Peggy. She was in the room next to me at the hospital the first time I stayed there."

A few months ago. Suddenly, Brittany remembers. She was the one with the pink pajamas. Always smiled, even at her worst.

"Oh, God. That's horrible."

But Santana shrugs in a weird way: "I guess. I mean, not everyone survives, right?"

The lack of compassion startles Brittany. Maybe she's just too upset about it to act rationally. Maybe it frightens her to the bone to end up the same way. It somehow has that effect on Brittany.

"Do you want to go to her funeral?" she asks silently. "I mean, there might be people that you know."

Santana's eyes flare up at her and not in a good way. She's obviously trying to fight off all the feelings that death and funerals bring along. She's lying on the couch, dressed in a comfortable set of pajamas.

"I don't have cancer friends." she emphasized. "I don't talk to the others on the floor. Peggy was an exception. She brought me cookies."

Trying not to join the obvious prelude to an argument, Brittany deeply inhales before replying: "That was nice of her."

Santana remains quiet. All she does is nod, but so subtly and dazzled that it doesn't seem to mean anything. She's been shutting Brittany out lately. The chemo treatments keep coming. The doctor told her her cells don't seem to respond to the injections and pills. It scares her. Tremendously. And so, in true Santana style, she suppresses her feelings. The therapist she visits once a week is the only one who is allowed to shed a light on the coping mechanism of the model. Well, until last week. She had a massive outburst of anger and ran out to never return again. Brittany doesn't know it yet.

"Honey, why don't you go over there more often, talk to the patients. It could help." Brittany attempts, choosing her words so carefully that it pains her.

There used to be a time when she could say anything to Santana. Now everything is potentially dangerous, though every word crossing her lips carries the best intentions.

"I have my therapist to talk to, if that's what you mean." Santana snaps, clearly lying about the sessions she no longer attends.

Brittany doesn't really agree and slowly sits back in her chair: "Well, your therapist doesn't have cancer."

"Neither do you." the model viciously growls while getting up on her unstable feet to flee to the kitchen.

Brittany's so tired of it. So very tired of all this hostility. She pursuits the Latina and finds her leaning against the kitchen counter. For a second, she wants to ask her if she's okay, but that'll probably make her angry as well. The blonde sighs and experiences an enormous feeling of sadness taking over.

"Let's just stop fighting." she begs her. "We can't waste time with fighting over stupid things."

But Santana starts laughing uncontrollably for some reason. She throws her head backwards and keeps her back turned at Brittany.

"Stupid? You think this is stupid? It's not."

Brittany has learned to pick her words carefully and lowers her voice even more.

"Listen, we just - we shouldn't waste our energy on this."

Her words are enough to make Santana burst out with anger. She can't help it. She hates herself for it, but it's the frustration building up. The frustration that she's not getting any better and it scares her. Because there's no money or influential people in the world that can help her. There's no treatment Dr. Cullers or De Weerdt can come up with that will make the cancer go away, so it seems. And she's fucking scared. And Brittany's here and she's her vocal punching bag. It's unfair, it's completely fucked up. But that's how she works.

"For fuck's sake, Brittany." she continues expressing her anger. "Fighting is important. It's an important part of a relationship. You say we should skip being honest about our believes and morals and - I don't know, doubts, because I have this stupid thing called cancer?"

Brittany scrunches her eyebrows in an offended way: "Are you kidding me?"

Her wife turns around and that's when she finally allows the blonde in: "No, are _you_ kidding _me_? I want this thing to tear me down in a normal way. If that means having a fight or a bad day or telling you you're a bitch when you are, than so be it."

Her wife painfully smiles and reminds herself how ironic that accusation is.

"I'm gonna ignore that last one." she calmly says, all with good intentions. "Look, you can't get worked up. The doctor told you to -"

"Fuck the doctor." Santana interrupts her. "Seriously, Brittany. If you can't handle a stupid fight with me, than what are you even doing here? How do you expect to sit by my side as I'm losing my hair and barfing up my guts when you can't even handle me sporting a bad mouth? Seriously, walk away while you can if you think this is the worst of me."

It hurts Brittany to hear her say that. Because that's all she's been doing up until this point: trying to keep it all together while Santana did lose her hair. While she puked until it hurt on the inside. While she screamed at her for no reason. And she said nothing, not once when Santana treated her horribly. She knows this isn't the woman she married. It's the poison making her react this way. But lately, it takes a lot of reminding herself, to keep tolerating it.

"Hmm. Okay, I _am_ gonna walk away now - before we both say something we regret." she blocks out the argument with tears welling up in her eyes. "Why don't you come over later and use your reusable and convenient cancer card to apologize."

She turns around and walks through the door, only to hear the very bitchy response of her spouse: "Fuck you."

That's when enough is enough. The limit is reached. Brittany storms right back in and with an accusing finger pointed at the true bitch in this house, she snaps.

"No, fuck you, Santana. Look at this place."

She points at the terrible state this apartment is in. There are bumps and holes in every piece of furniture. All thanks to Santana and her outrageous behavior. The Latina is surprised to find the ever too kind blonde exploding like this. Even worse: she's not done yet. She pushes Santana chest hard enough to make her back up and grasp on to the counter for support.

"You think that throwing around vases and shit is going to solve anything? For fuck's sake, you're keeping an entire industry from going bankrupt with the mess you're making."

Santana finds herself unpleasantly surprised by this sudden outburst. She blinks a few times in a row and has a look around. It reminds her of something David told her last week. Unlike Brittany, he refused to accept the way Santana had been treating everyone lately. He said it was unacceptable, but she didn't care.

"Stop it, Santana." he ordered her with a strict voice. "I am telling you and you better listen. Because _everyone_ will leave you."

The warning felt fake in a way that she didn't really thought about it. But he grabbed her by the arm, forcefully, and made her look at him. His eyes spit honesty and threat. He was close to walking out for a while and not checking back in until she got her shit together. Quickly, he realized that his brutal honesty left out one important detail. One she hadn't thought of yet.

"_She_ will leave you." he specified, hinting at the terrible way Santana had been treating her wife.

That's when her body froze to the spot. And that's why it freezes again right now.

"Brittany …" she utters, scared that her cousin's words will come true one day.

But this time it's Brittany's turn to act like a bitch. She tells her to fuck off and walks away. A moment later, the front door shuts violently. Santana is left alone. It's the thing that scares her most, she realizes. It's painfully clear to her now: she needs to change or Brittany might walk out on her.

* * *

It takes hours before Brittany returns home. It's like she needed all the time in the world to cool down. She went walking and ended up taking a cab. Susan met with her to have a talk. After going on and on about the horrible attitude of her wife lately, she ended up showing her the tattoo she got on her hip. That's when the handwritten scribble realized her how all of this was just crazy. The fighting, the cancer, the horrible moments. Yes, Santana was being a bitch. But that's only because life fucked her over the second time around. Susan saw the change in her emotions happening in her eyes. She offered to drive the blonde home. The blonde first hesitated. Then the blonde accepted.

Santana is in bed, covered underneath a mountain of pillows and blankets when she walks in. She's having the chills again. It's one of the side effects. When she notices Brittany nearby, her eyes are small and fragile.

"I'm scared." she whispers.

Brittany walks over to the bed and sits down next to the demolished woman she married.

"I know you are," she responds softly, "but I cannot put up with this behavior any longer. If you're afraid, then tell me you're afraid. If you're sad, so be it. But you cannot treat me like this anymore; like I'm a piece of shit. Because that's how you make me feel right now. And instead of just living with that knowledge, you might die with that regret inside of you, Santana. You might be _dying_ and you're doing nothing more than picking a fight with me lately. And I don't think you want to do that to the person who's absolutely crazy in love with you. _And_ your terrible fighting techniques. Not to say anything about your dancing."

Just a little joke to express she's not mad anymore. Santana apologizes to Brittany without words. There are a million emotions shooting from her dark, brown, dreamy eyes that say it all - that spit out the regret and sorrow about the way she had handled herself around her wife lately. It is fear that sneaks up on her. It has manifested irrational behavior in the softness of her character. She's afraid to die, to having to let go of Brittany in a nearby future and that's something she can't make peace with. As a final act, she wraps her arms around the blonde and hugs her until their bodies feel both warm and sore from keeping still. Brittany forgives her without a hesitation. Because, how can she not?

It's not that Santana's alone in her desperation. Brittany's just as scared. She's never felt like this before. Not even when she realized she was gay or in love with her best friend. Seriously, that was the easy part. This - being forced to let go of her most precious possession, this is pure horror.

"Maybe you're right." she whispers, questioning herself. "Maybe I can't do this. It's so hard to see you hurt like this … It isn't just hard for you, I'm suffering too. And I know that that comparison is crappy and uncalled for, but it's the truth. I'm not ready to think about your possible funeral. I'm supposed to be strong for you but these images keep popping up in my head, because what if it goes wrong? What if you die and you leave me here, all alone? There's just no possible way that I can help you and that _sucks_, you know. It massively sucks."

Santana repositions her head and finds a soft place on Brittany's breasts. They are spread across the bed now, close in each other's embrace. Brittany's stroking the skinny arms of her lady lover, comforting.

"I know, baby." Santana ultimately replies after a moment of silent consideration. "And I don't expect you to be Superman. I just need you here, by my side, if that's okay with you. Fight the fight with me. Be my Mulan."

A small smile lights up the depressing mood of Brittany. She nods.

"But in all fairness: I know you didn't ask for this, so … You don't _have_ to stay if you don't want to; you can walk out anytime and I wouldn't blame you. That'd be okay." Santana tells her painfully serious.

Brittany forces her wife to look at her and shakes her head - determined to fight the fight with her.

"I'm not going anywhere." she smiles, sort of to ridicule the offer. "You know what a divorce would cost me?"

They both chuckle over the comment and heave a big sigh. Another silence kicks in.

"I don't want to die, Brittany." Santana suddenly admits the truth behind it all. "I want to grow old with you, have kids, a picket fence and a rescued dog."

The blonde knows that. She wants exactly the same.

"And a chick on the side." she comments, to lighten up the mood.

That's when the other one starts nodding enthusiastically, like that goes without a doubt: "Definitely a chick on the side."

Santana feels warmer and warmer by the seconds that pass. They can be so sweet to each other if they just try to block out all the bad stuff. Because if this cancer shit should do one thing, it's bring them closer together, no?

"You can do this, okay? You can. Right?" Santana whispers.

Brittany swallows down a lost tear and nods. Her lower lip is trembling. It's dead-cute.

"You know it's you, right?" the Latina asks.

"What?"

Santana points at the place where she has the tattoo and talks to her in the softest voice she has used in ages.

"The warrior princess on my hip. It's you. You are my warrior. I couldn't go through all of this again without you by my side. And I don't always tell or show you: but I am so grateful to have you here."

She crawls up on her weak arms to kiss Brittany tenderly on the side of her lips. It's a thank you. And Brittany loves seeing her this humble and sincere.

"You're hard work." she sighs frustrated, while smirking. "But you're worth it, Santana."

When Santana eyes travel down the side of the bed, she finds a couple of teddy bears that have followed her across the world. Three of them are Brittany's. One is from her dad when she was little. The most shabby one is the one her mom bought before she was born. Santana takes it with her everywhere she goes. It's brown and used to be fluffy. Now it's missing an eye and it kind of smells.

"I swore on my favorite teddy bear's head I'd beat this thing." she admits. "It's not working."

Brittany turns her head and looks straight at the same bear.

"Well, teddy bears can't do everything."

* * *

**How did you guys like it?**


	18. Aby

**Aby**

_2019_

* * *

Unlike before, Santana decides to pick up the pieces of her broken body and make the best of it. Her chemo treatments have temporarily stopped. All she has to do now is await the test results from her scans, X-rays and blood. It's scary. It's absolutely scary, but a diversion is the best thing that comes up in her mind to keep her occupied. She asked Brittany to take a few days off. Of course, she did. The people at work have been very understanding when it comes to the illness of her wife. So has Rick Spencer. He's crazy about his miracle model. This disease coming back nearly killed him. He cancelled all her appointments when she told him the truth and left with the promise that, whenever she needed something, she could call him. Among the people that picked up on her medical condition is the one called 'the media'. In other words: then entire world. At first, Twitter, Facebook, news sites and television lost its collective shit over the news. But now, surprisingly, they lay low. It's like they treat her with enough respect to go through it without dealing with too much media attention. She has participated in a few interviews over the last couple of months, mostly to raise awareness for her disease and to show the fans that even a Victoria's Secret Angel can loose her wings. Apart from that, she stays away from the public eye as much as possible.

It's late at night when Santana is pulling on her shoes. Brittany, comfortably changed back in her sweats after coming home from the nice dinner they just had, walks over to her and immediately wonders out loud what is going on. She knows that Santana has been acting out slightly reckless lately. There's this whole 'living while your young' and 'YOLO' happening right now and the ever too calm and peaceful Brittany has trouble adapting to that lifestyle. So going out at this hour is not appealing to her.

"Stay in, babe." Santana joyfully announces. "I'm just going out for a walk."

She's full of energy again. That's great to witness. The girl puts on a thick coat, some comfortable shoes and a scarf and smiles all the way through it. Her body is heading for the exit, but that's when Brittany clicks her tongue to make her come back. By the time Santana's figure reappears, the blonde's waiting with pursed lips. The Latina enthusiastically throws herself at her wife and presses a hard kiss on her mouth. After that, she's gone.

"Be safe!" Brittany orders her.

* * *

It's been an hour. Maybe Brittany shouldn't be this worried. Maybe she should've joined her wife. _Maybe_ she's just overreacting. It's _only_ been an hour. She quickly picks up the phone and presses the speed dial anyway. Where the hell is she? And why isn't she answering her call?

Brittany decides to put on a pair of shoes and head outside as well. Santana isn't exactly the person that enjoys a walk. In fact, Brittany expected to see her pop up again after ten minutes. That didn't happen, so _just to be safe_, Brittany's going to scoop the place. You never know.

After a good search through the neighborhood, she hears noises. Three blocks away from their apartment, in the midst of a little mass of curious people, she elbows her way to the middle of the spectacle. Her jaw drops when she finds her beloved, wig-wearing cancer patient with bare feet in a fountain. She's spray-painting the statue of a man who obviously slew a few women at his feet. Must represent some civil example from a long time ago. Brittany's completely thrown off and makes her way over to the edge of the fountain. She can't believe what she's seeing. Santana doesn't seem to notice her until her name loudly reverberated across the water. When she looks over her shoulder curiously, there's the condemning expression of her wife. She freezes to the spot and fakes an innocent smile.

"What the hell are you doing?" Brittany shouts, clearly upset about this spontaneous outburst of creativity.

But Santana likes to focus on the fact that the blonde wasn't supposed to show up: "Oh, my God. You shouldn't be here."

She looks as if her father just caught her having sex. Brittany recognizes the face, because that might have happened once or twice in the past. Her pants are soaking wet. Her coat, on the other hand, is as red as the spray paint she's been using to graffiti this statue to demolition standards. They've passed it before. Santana calls it sexist.

"What the hell are you doing?" Brittany demands to know.

The crowd has had its time to snap pictures and film the entire show and slowly, they start to continue their way home. As if it would make anything better, Santana decides to hide the spray can behind her back. Her face is innocently turned towards the cold water around her feet.

"My bucket list." she admits. "I'm working on my bucket list. I wanted to do something illegal and -"

Brittany's flabbergasted eyes roll over the path of destruction that took place. She shrugs and sighs. This can never end well.

"You could've just smoked a joint in public?" she comments, hoping it'll sound funny enough to calm herself down.

She's trying really hard not to get mad about it. It's true: it was on the bucket list. Getting arrested once. Of course Santana must make a showpiece out of it. Now that the continuous vandalism has stopped, the last of the remaining spectators have disappeared as well.

"What? And get lung cancer added to the list?" Santana ridicules her words with wiggling eyebrows.

Brittany points to the spot next to her. You know, out of the water.

"Get out of there."

But her wife amusingly refuses: "No."

"Fine." Brittany scoffs while throwing her arms up in the air. "Then I'll get in."

"What?"

The blonde pulls off her designer shoes and jumps into the fountain as well. Santana should be surprised, or even a little part of her should be terrified to get dragged out of it by her wig, but she just starts laughing out loud. Brittany makes her way through the knee-deep water, curses a few times over the chilly temperature and puts her hands behind Santana's back to confiscate the spray can.

"You missed a spot." she whispers before kissing her wife sweetly on the lips.

And so they make an effort to be graffiti artists while covering the fountain in a red color and fail at it massively. Good thing they chose different career paths.

The girls dance in between the splashes of cold water and chase each other while innocent strollers throw them curious looks. In fact, they are having the time of their lives. How many people can say they've done this? This careless and reckless behavior erases all the bad things going on in seconds. Santana is the only person Brittany can act like a kid around. Even better, that's how Santana likes her best. They accidentally slip and nearly go heads under once in a while, but that's okay: it only strengthens the laughing kicking they're in. In between the vandalism, they decide to color each other's outfit red - sort of a reminder of this wicked spontaneity. God, it's good to be alive right now. It's cold, it's the middle of the night and bystanders are staring at them curiously - some disapprovingly. But it's great. Because they are having fun, so much fun. For the first time in a while, the big C has disappeared. Santana crawls through the water and grabs her wife by the wrist. She pulls her closer and kisses her with an immortal passion that makes them unstable on their own feet.

"You remind me of Taylor Swift songs." Brittany whispers through her mouth after regaining consciousness. "The kind ones."

Santana smirks and realizes how the blonde's sweetest words can make her heart jump. Even after three years of marriage, their romance still reminds her of the first few weeks they started dating.

"I'll tell her."

They are laughing until Santana has to stop running around because she's out of breath. When Brittany catches up to her, she leans against the lower part of the statue and stares at the captivating presence of her supermodel wife. Her fingers pull the worn out body closer and they kiss again. Long and soft and tender. This behavior has a strange effect on their sex drive.

But then the inevitable happens: a police car stops near the fountain and an annoyed offices get steps out. He gently makes his way over to the edge of the work of art and heaves a sigh.

"Can you please get out of there." he kindly proposes, clearly too tired to indulge in some rough police work.

They look at him and gladly accept the offer. Their feet are as cold as ice by now. When they leave the fountain and pull on their shoes again, the officer - must be mid thirties - suddenly recognizes them both. Brittany bends over to pick up her purse.

"You're Santana Lopez." he gasps. "And Brittany Pierce."

Suddenly, his eyes start sparkling. This must be the luckiest day of his career.

"Yes." Santana confirms his suspicion. "Nice to meet you, officer."

He quickly reminds them that he has to take them to the precinct and that it technically destroys their happy encounter. But Santana disagrees.

"Oh, no. This is exactly what I've waited for. Can you cuff me, please?"

Brittany suppresses a smile and turns her head around to catch a breath. This shouldn't be so amusing.

"What?" the officer scoffs all confused.

She holds out both hand to him and nods: "Cuff me. It's a necessity."

"No, it's not." he tells her. "I can just kindly let you take place in the backseat."

Brittany faces him and mouths that it's okay. He frowns the most confusing frown and after giving it a second thought, he decides to do whatever they are asking him. The girls both get cuffed and they get escorted to the back seat of the car. As the officer takes his time to snap some pictures of the vandalism, Santana joyfully inspects the interior of the car.

"It smells like pee in here." she notices. "I love it."

Brittany throws her a shady look. That's when Santana realizes what kind of trouble she put her wife in.

"I'm sorry about this. I wasn't sure if you wanted to be involved into this, that's why I didn't say anything."

But the blonde shrugs and seems very pleased about her own level of badass: "Are you kidding me? I'm loving this."

Santana is very pleased. She kinda knew that there's only one person in the world who could share this experience with her if it came down to it. But her mind starts working and the next few imaginary steps of the process appear in front of her eyes. That's when a mysterious smile colors her face. Brittany notices and asks what's wrong.

"I'm a model." Santana explains overly confident. "I should have a gorgeous mug shot."

* * *

"Do you think that dogs sometimes see police dogs and be like: 'Oh, fuck, it's the cops!', like we do?"

Brittany's on the floor, on her back, staring at a sleeping K9 on the other side of the cell bars. Her famous wife can't stop smiling over this whole adventure and the witty comment doesn't make her stop. This is awesome to her. Being in jail is _awesome_.

Officer Matthews, who took them in, has learned the truth behind the spontaneous urge to destroy government property. Just like every person on this planet, he's read about Santana's battle against cancer in some gossip magazine or in the paper. So when Brittany started explaining it all, he had a hard time to follow the rules. Santana told him not to feel guilty about it, though. She wanted this. It was on her bucket list.

And so the girls went through initial processing and left their fingerprints for the national database. While doing so, they felt badass. It was quite the spectacle. Mainly because officer Matthews explained their motives to the rest of his colleagues. Even the captain came to have a look and smoothly introduced himself to the famous pair. In fact, for some reason, this place is currently packed with uniforms. One by one, they have asked for selfies or signed pictures. Of course, Santana happily accepted the requests. She looks skinnier now, and clearly sick, but it's good to know that her fans still think she's pretty.

Suddenly, a well-known face appears in front of the cell. It's George, confused to the bone about this whole charade. It's late and he looks kind of sleepy.

"Hi daddy!" Santana enthusiastically shrieks.

He just shakes his head: "Are you freaking kidding me?"

She assures him it's fine. Officer Matthews told them there'd just be a fine for having the statue cleaned.

"This bucket list thing has to stop, Santana." he tells her.

But she disagrees: "I'm almost done, daddy. Given, this was the most reckless part."

"Can't you just go skydiving or go on a holiday to Bali?" he sighs, waiting for one of the officers to open the highly secured door.

"I've been to Bali." his daughter responds dryly. "Twice. And you want me to fall out of an airplane?"

But as their freedom seems closer than ever, she realizes it might not be a kid's greatest gift to have their parents bail them out of jail.

"I'm sorry, dad. I'm really, really, really …"

He holds up his hand in an objective way and ignores the comment. He's in no position to be mad about it. And by the looks of it, she's not even serious about it. Miss Santana gets away with everything now that she's sick. Brittany crawls up on her feet and entwines their hands. They leave the precinct after thanking all the men and women who work hard for this city. Most of them can see the fun side in it.

"Just get in the car." George yawns, while holding the door open for his little girl.

"Okay." she humbly utters.

She's acting all innocent, like nothing has happened. After putting her first feet in the car, she stops to turn around and kiss his cheek. Spontaneously, lovingly.

"Thank you, daddy." she says, very seriously this time.

That's when his annoyance disappears and concern surfaces: "Oh, for God's sake. Are you okay?"

Brittany is sitting in the back seat by now. She's surprisingly quiet, mostly not to disturb the father-daughter moment.

"I am." Santana tells him. "I really am. I feel _alive_."

He raises an eyebrow: "Glad that breaking the law has such a vivid reflection on you."

It's clear that George would handle things differently. He knows just how expressive and dramatic his creation can be. Times like these reminds him all the more of his late wife.

"Don't worry, daddy. I'm too pretty for prison." she assures him with an attitude that makes Brittany chuckle.

After taking a seat and buckling up, George starts the car to head home. It's late by now. He wants to know if they want to sleep over at the Lopez house. Brittany says she'd love to, for old time's sake.

"Should we _not_ mention this to granddad?" Santana hesitantly wonders.

But her father starts snorting through his clenched teeth.

"Are you kidding me? Granddad's been in jail more than you have. He'll love the story."

The Latina turns her confused eyes at him and finds herself in shock.

"Excuse me, what?"

George rolls his eyes and mysteriously smiles. Yeah. Fun times.

* * *

The morning sun eagerly intrudes the bedroom of the ladies and the warmth of the rays of sun wakes Brittany up without her permission. She yawns and turns her head, only to find the framed pictures of the two occasional criminals hanging on the left side of the room. Seriously, Santana is too proud about that event. Given, they look gorgeous and badass at the same time.

She finds the happily dreaming love of her life close beside her, snuggled up against her shoulder, as always. Brittany's lips find the tip of Santana's nose and she kisses it repeatedly to wake her up slowly. The Latina mysteriously starts to smile and that's a go for Brittany to proceed the tender smooching. She moves her mouth to the cheeks she adores, then the lips that were made to caress her skin all day long. The waking-up moaning translates to delightful moaning. Santana wraps her skinny arms around her wife's neck and pulls her closer.

"I had a dream about you last night." Santana's husky voice tells her.

That excites Brittany in more than one way. Her fingers are running up and down the caramel skin she knows so well. Quickly, her left hand disappears under the shirt that's blocking her view. She touches the bareness of Santana boobs and that makes them both quiver.

"Oh, you did, huh? I sense a moment here." Brittany replies in a naughty way.

She squeezes the flesh she's holding and Santana arches her back with frustration. Her lower lip has turned white from biting it too hard. Brittany continues to kiss her neck and collarbone area. She knows it drives her wife crazy. Their bodies are grinding against each other, so orchestrated - it reflects the way they've been doing it for years now. Santana digs her nails deep into Brittany's skin and it hurts just enough to be enjoyable.

"And my dad was there as well." Santana continues.

That's when Brittany's moves completely, abruptly stop.

"Okay, moment passed." she coughs, while crawling on her hands and knees.

She looks down to find the peaceful smile of the girl she'd die for. She's so beautiful. Even after everything, with her hair all fluffy and short, she can't imagine ever waking up next to anyone else. Without realizing, she nearly brings herself to cry. Tears are welling up in her eyes and she nervously sighs to get rid of the depressing vision of herself in this bed alone one day. Santana can't notice something's wrong and for once, her wish comes true. The Latina seems to be dragged into the dream she woke up from just a second ago. Her hands are still wrapped around Brittany's back.

"Well, what did you dream about?" Brittany curiously wonders.

The person lying underneath her starts to blush massively.

"I dreamt we had a threesome." she admits, avoiding eye contact.

Brittany smirks and frowns at the same time: "And how exactly was your dad part of that dream?"

Her wife slaps the imaginary vision out of the room and shakes her head very convincingly: "Oh, that was another scene."

"Scene?"

Brittany is getting more confused with every second that passes. But her famous spouse just shrugs. She always dreams in movie scenes. Doesn't everybody? The blonde nervously chuckles and puffs.

"Would you _like_ to have a threesome?"

She's not sure if general interest or curiosity sparks the question.

"I don't know. Would you?"

Brittany crawls off of her and sits up straight, back turned to Santana. She shrugs and her wife can't read what that means.

"I'm just kidding." Santana quickly utters, sort of representing an apology.

The posture of the woman she married remains unchanged. That's when the Latina reconsiders things.

"Unless you're totally okay with it." she adds.

Brittany turns around again and twitches her nose. She doesn't know how to feel about all of it. Is it supposed to flatter or insult her?

"Seriously?"

Santana shrugs and pushes herself up: "Yeah."

The trembling in her voice gives away the nerves rushing through her body. There are a few details that disturb Brittany.

"Is this on your bucket list?" she eventually asks.

Something tells her it is. Santana should write it down, that damn list. She never seems to remember it.

"Yes." Santana honestly answers.

Brittany crawls closer again and starts to stroke the lower, caramel-toned bare arm in front of her.

"So you're telling me you've never had a threesome before? Not even in those four crazy years without me?" she teases.

Faintly squeezed eyes - due to the sunlight - accusingly stare at her.

"I knew you thought of them as a long-lasting lesbian orgy."

"Well, were they?"

Santana faces the provoking expression taking over Brittany's face and she hesitates while stuttering.

"Yes." she ultimately admits. "But that doesn't matter. I want to have a threesome that involves you. Don't you see, my entire bucket list involves you."

Brittany sets the facts straight right away: "You got your tattoo on your own. And I had to find you in that fountain."

She's secretly enjoying this weirdly comical conversation.

"Why are you such a savant?" Santana asks.

Brittany frowns all offended: "Are you calling me old?"

The Latina puts three fingers on her forehead to exhale the frustration: "No! I'm saying that you remember everything that once happened."

Brittany stares at her for a silent moment and contemplates the options. Something tells her this isn't a great idea. But Santana might be dying. And this is what she wants. She heaves a frustrated sigh and partly gives in the second she asks about Santana's specifics about the conceivable event.

Her wife has thought things through, though. It should involve a man, not a woman, because Santana thinks it might get confusing with three women.

"How do I know which one I'll be holding in my hands? There'll be to many boobs." she justifies her belief.

It's backed up with experience. Brittany is too startled to comment and remains quiet. In the end, she stares into the enthusiastic eyes of the person that makes her happier than anyone has ever done and hesitantly agrees.

It takes exactly two days before Santana has arranged everything to execute her plan. She claims to have found the perfect victim for their innocent little threesome. Brittany's nervous about it. Part of her doesn't want it. What if she won't like it? What if she will? She hasn't had sex with men in forever and that's fine. It's not like she's missing it. In fact, she thinks it's better with women. Woman. Santana.

Besides, the Latina never even did have sex with a man before. If this were her, she'd be terrified as hell. But the persistence and determination of her wife seems to work wonders. When the doorbell rings, Brittany's heartbeat skyrockets, while Santana calmly makes her way over to the hallway. When she returns, Brittany fakes a faint smile.

"Hi Jeffrey."

That's right: Jeffrey McFree. Intriguing brown eyes, long hair, sharp face. Supermodel. Given, there are worse options. The first time Brittany ever saw him taking his shirt off, her lady parts started to tingle. Sometimes, they still do.

He smiles at her and winks. The boy is wearing a tight shirt. It brings out his abs. Brittany _loves_ abs.

Santana surprisingly claps her hands as if this is one orchestrated photoshoot and then invites both of them into the bedroom. Brittany gets on her feet and briefly looks up to Jeffrey, who's feeling just as uncomfortable. Santana called him and explained the offer. Jeffrey enthusiastically agreed, but now he's here, he's a bit reluctant for some reason.

They enter the room and find a determined Santana stripping down to her sexy lingerie. She's skinnier than Jeffrey remembers from previous encounters. Of course she's wearing her wig. Nobody except her family's allowed to see her without a wig.

Brittany heaves a nervous sigh and wonders how on earth she's ever going to get aroused feeling like this. She walks over to Santana and faces her, only to discover a weird sparkle in her eyes. Santana unbuttons her blouse and jeans. She softly kisses the side of Brittany's lips and allows her fingers to strokes the blonde's waist as if to assure her it'll all be okay. Jeffrey closes them in and takes off his shirt. His abs! Oh - Brittany remembers them. She shivers by the sight of it. He's confident this will all figure itself out, so he goes in for the first kiss. Just as his lips touch Brittany's frozen face, Santana suddenly surprises them both by yelling "Stop!".

They look up and find her shaking her head excessively. Her entire attitude has shifted completely and Brittany couldn't be happier about it.

"This is … a mistake." the Latina utters. "I'm sorry but I can't do this."

Brittany pushes Jeffrey back so his bare chest is not longer touching the edge of her bra and heaves the most relieved sigh in history. Oh, this is good. This is more than good.

"What do you mean?" Jeffrey asks, curving his gorgeous eyebrows.

"I changed my mind." his colleague explains. "I do not want to have a threesome anymore."

"Why not?" he wonders.

Yes, he's not being subtle about the disappointment. The guy's actually really into Brittany. Santana takes a second to think about it and shrugs, as a way to apologize.

"Well, my fake hair might be straight, but I'm not. I can't do this." she then turns her head to her wife. "Plus, I am programmed to kill every single person that puts his hands on you. So it wouldn't work."

Brittany's smile is enchanting. This amazing feeling overcomes her and she mouths the obvious conclusion: "You're so jealous._"_

"I am." Santana assures her, loud enough for Jeffrey to understand this time. "And you love that about me."

Brittany enthusiastically throws both arms around her neck. She kisses Santana intensely and pulls her even closer than imaginable.

"I love _everything_ about you."

The flabbergasted male model is still in the room, though he gets the impression that they randomly forgot about him: "So, I just leave?"

Santana turns her head and grins while Brittany puts wet kisses along her neck.

"Like this never happened." she tells him, kind of threatening.

He is seeking for inner peace and looks at her: "Can't I even brag about it?"

Brittany's hands are now caressing Santana's sensitive back. She loves it when the blonde scratches her nails all the way down her butt.

"Not if you want me to tell your fashion designer sugar daddy." Santana responds, well aware of the weird agreement he and Alexander Dubrov have going on.

"That's not fair." Jeffrey smiles faintly.

The Latina shrugs and pushes Brittany back a little, because this whole hooking up thing is dazzling her mind. Seriously, it's getting hard to think while being sexually attacked.

"Be a man!" she orders Jeffrey.

Suddenly, Brittany turns her head his way as well: "Yeah, like Santana."

The girls both smirk. The guy disappears. And they have awesome sex. Just the two of them.

* * *

All electricity has been turned off when Brittany enters the barely lit room. What she does see are the candles decorating the apartment. She's genuinely confused but quickly realizes that this is some romantic effort of her wife. Santana's been feeling surprisingly well, lately. Next week, they have to return to the hospital, to discuss further options with Dr. Cullers. Even Dr. De Weerdt is flying in for the weekend. The girls are trying hard not to think about it. Because it frightens them. Santana not getting any better frightens them. Because the only reason she's not as weak and sick as before, is because the worst part of her treatment is over.

After dropping her purse and bag on the dinner table, she enters the bathroom to find Santana taking a long soak in the bathtub. She leans against the doorway and playfully says hi. The Latina looks up to her and softly smiles. There's relaxing music filling the space.

"What are you doing?" Brittany wonders.

"I felt like having a pool party." Santana explains. "But then I realized it's winter."

Brittany walks over to her and takes a seat on the edge of the tub. She kisses the wet forehead of her lady lover and asks how her day went.

"Good. We have to be at David's in an hour. Eli is coming. They are bringing the baby."

Her eyebrows are wiggling all excited. It's the cutest ever. A baby girl for a change. Such a relief for the Lopez family. The end of the boy area is over. Santana's birth changed that and now it's official. Her name is Macy and she's to die for.

"Oh, really?"

Santana shrugs: "We just decided. You want to come? Do you need to get ready?"

Brittany nods and points out her outfit: "I can't go wearing my dirty clothes, sweetie."

Santana has a way of sorting that out, though. She surprises her wife by dragging her into the bathtub and after being dipped head under, the flabbergasted expression on her face amuses the model until she starts snoring from laughter.

"What the hell!" Brittany shrieks.

But she starts to laugh immediately as well. She crawls up on her feet and gets rid of her soaking wet clothes. Santana carefully watches. Then the blonde sits down in between Santana spread legs, her back positioned against her naked chest. She loves being the little spoon.

"Just _tell_ me if you want to take a bath together, lunatic." she smirks.

Santana ignores the insult and starts massaging her wife's tensed shoulders. Every now and then, she can't refrain from kissing the soft skin. She washes her with her bare hands and Brittany loves it. Suddenly, a cellphone reverberates through the room. Brittany tends to get up to answer the call, but Santana orders her not to. Her arm literally push her down.

"Don't. This is you and me time." she states.

Her words quickly turn softer: "_Please,_ don't pick up."

Brittany's in the middle of some stressful contract renewal at work. She's been spending a lot of time at the movie studios. Yet, nothing is as important as this little intermezzo of the married fools. She agrees to let it go for now and leans back. As she does, she experiences the sensation of Santana's naked upper body against her back. This is lovely. This is careless and sweet. With nothing but candles lightening up the place, Brittany starts to wonder why they don't do this more often.

"I love you." she says.

Santana smiles all enchanted and kneads the shoulders a little bit more caring.

"I love you too."

* * *

Once they arrive at David and Julia's place, it's clear there's still some grocery shopping that needs to be done. Brittany offers to tag along with Julia, while David continues the arrangements for the cosy night they have planned. Blogger boy has turned into a wonderful chef. Whether he's at home, or crossing the world for projects, he never gets tired of cooking and experimenting with food.

Susan regrets to inform them she can't make it over the phone. There's something going on at work that'll require her to stay all night. Eli and Jessy are running late, as usual. Having a newborn has that effect on time management. To the point where time management is nothing but a description of a past luxury.

The second the giggling Julia and Brittany storm through the front door, carrying bags filled with food and drinks, David meets them in the hallway. He takes the heavy bags from them and shushes them. His head gestures to the nearby living room area. It doesn't take long for Brittany to realize what's going on. She turns the corner and finds her wife asleep on the couch. David put a blanket over her, so she wouldn't get cold. Her new glasses - Santana needs them now since her eyes have deteriorated - are on the arm rest.

Next to her, on the ground, the grown up Calvin is keeping watch. Even though she's slightly allergic to him, Santana's hand is positioned on his back. The adorable Labrador is checking the place for newbies and Brittany can swear he's smiling at her when she gets closer. He doesn't get up, though, because that might wake Santana. The blonde pets his head and whispers hello. When she stares at her exhausted wife, her heart hurts a little. The condition of Santana worries her, all the time, wherever she goes. Just an hour ago she was fine. She was fun and alive. Now she's worn out just by driving over to David's. Her lips touch the forehead that feels hot. It wakes the model up, but not enough to regain complete consciousness.

"Sorry, I must have fallen asleep." she apologizes while trying to orientate herself.

"It's okay, sweetie." Brittany tells her. "Just stay here, we're going to make dinner and I'll wake you up when it's ready."

A year ago, Santana would've enthusiastically jumped up on her feet and challenged her to get to the kitchen first. But that level of energy is long gone. The once sparkling model accepts the state she's in and nods in a defeated way.

"Okay." she whispers.

Her eyes are closed again by now. Like they are too heavy.

"I love you." she mumbles through her tiredness.

Brittany gets up on her feet and walks over to the door that'll lead her to the kitchen. She heaves a sad sigh and refrains an emotional feeling to take over her mindset.

"I love you too."

It's the second time she says it today. But this time it sounds bittersweet.

An hour later, everything's set to kick off the cosy night. David kisses his girlfriend long and lovingly after they sit down around the massive dinner table. He's happy. So very happy that it nauseates his brother - who finally showed up. Santana is sitting across him, clearly still tired. Her wife is too absorbed by the presence of little Macy to look at her, though. She's been playing with the baby from the second she came in. Brittany adores babies. There's something about them that captivates her. And those little humans always seem to love her.

"We have something important to discuss." Santana announces while accepting a dish of impeccable vegetables from Julia.

She readjust the glasses on her nose. Still weird wearing them.

"Why are you always wearing red when we have something important to discuss?" Brittany suddenly interrupts her, looking down at her outfit.

"Because it's proven to increase the heartbeat." her wife explains.

It are Rick's words. The exact same words he once told her when she wanted to go home one day and knock on Brittany's door to explain everything. That was back in 2014. But she wasn't allowed by Dr. De Weerdt to travel outside of Europe for a while. And Rick needed her at a meeting in Paris the next day. He told her to wear something red. When she asked why, that was his answer. Santana called David an hour after his words had engraved themselves in her mind. But right before she was about to admit her plan to return home and beg Brittany to take her back, he nervously informed her that she had met someone. And that it was serious. Christopher. She hung up the phone and cried for six hours. The next day, she attended the meeting. She wore red.

"What do we have to talk about?" Eli wonders, while putting some potatoes on Jessy's plate.

The beautiful brunette thanks him and checks little Macy. She's not in desperate need of motherly love, though. Brittany is clearly in love with the little bundle of baby fat and keeps her entertained on her lap.

"We have to talk about … my funeral and stuff." Santana silently utters.

It's enough for every single person in this room to feel uncomfortable. Brittany's eyes flare up to her and she feels her heart breaking right that second.

"What?" the blonde stutters.

Her breathing enhances. She's not ready for all of this yet. There's no way they are supposed to talk about gruesome events like that. Santana keeps focussed on her and strokes her right hand. That's when Eli gets up to take baby Macy away from her. Suddenly, all the baby joy has disappeared. The six adults just sit there and remain quiet. Reality has slapped them in the face. And neither one of them likes it.

* * *

**Thanks for the massive response on the last chapter. I know things aren't the happiest between them now, but I guess that's the realistic part, right? I always choose to pick a storyline that doesn't involve cheating or getting pregnant or getting pregnant from cheating because that's just not done for me - I like to think there are other ways to keep a story interesting (someone should inform TV writers about that). Sadly, it's this one, for now. **

**Hope you enjoyed the few careless moments between them. And I know people have been YELLING at me to not give them a threesome :D haha - but I thought this one was kind of funny :D**

**Reviews?**


	19. Acrophobia

**Acrophobia**

_2019_

* * *

"You know I have a vault in the apartment, right?" Santana asks her wife.

Brittany nods. It's behind a painting in the living room. The Latina thought that was really badass. When Brittany told her it was in fact nerdy, she begged her to never tell anyone, claiming it was her 'nerdy little secret'. Brittany smirked, because she had a few of those.

"I keep all of my important stuff in there. Bank accounts, my property certificates, our wedding license, contracts, …" Santana explains.

Brittany's still not up for this conversation. Just a few minutes ago, they were discussing a funeral. What flowers to pick, what color of coffin it should be, which songs they'll play. She's all upset about the subjects floating from mouth to mouth this evening. In fact: she's nauseous.

"Brittany, listen to me."

Santana grabs her hand in order to regain her attention. She knows this is hard. It's hard for her as well, but these are things that matter.

"You've seen the code, didn't you? Last time when I took something out of it."

Brittany hides herself in mystery and shrugs in an innocent way: "Maybe."

Her wife knows exactly what that means.

"Good." she claims. "You might need it one day."

She's being awfully realistic about it all. Brittany comforts herself with the idea that 'one day' might actually take place in fifty years. That's all she's hoping for.

"Then it's good that the combination is my birthday." she faintly smiles while whispering.

Santana finally feels relaxed after hearing the witty comment. But there's a nagging feeling in her stomach. Something that tells her that 'one day' isn't so far away anymore. That's why this needs to be made clear in advance, now that she still can.

"I talked about a lot of things with my dad already." Santana resumes, while checking all the expressions around the table.

Everyone remains suspiciously quiet, as if they are scared to say something wrong. Even baby Macy has dozed off to sleep. Brittany squeezes the fragile hand she's holding onto. The idea of losing Santana is always there, just not as present as tonight.

"He knows that I want you to have the apartment. And all my personal stuff."

It takes one second to sink in and the next, Brittany starts shaking her head: "I don't - You don't have to do that, Santana. Your family is entitled to -"

Santana interrupts her by grabbing her shoulders firmly. She looks into her eyes with a fierceness that was there a lot before. Brittany can't help but noticing how beautiful she looks with those black glasses.

"I want to know for sure that you'll be okay, Brittany. I can't stand the thought of you having to move out of our little nest. Or someone else packing my stuff when you're not ready for it."

"That's why you're giving me an entire apartment?" Brittany scoffs.

The thing is, ever since they got married, Santana considered everything she ever owned to belong to Brittany as well. If she owned her heart, then what were a few bricks? That's what marriage is for, right? To share everything. It's no secret that the model has earned a lot more money in comparison to the rising editor. Not that it matters. It never did. Facts are facts. It's not like Santana was ever reluctant of taking a luxury Mexican vacation, just because Brittany couldn't pay her part with the same ease. Fuck no, she booked the holiday and _then_ informed her wife they were going away. She married her out of love, not to hide her money or wishes. How could she enjoy life without Brittany by her side?

"I don't want this gift." Brittany tells her. "You dad shouldn't have agreed."

Clearly, she feels uncomfortable. But Santana reminds her of the gold digger situation from a few years ago. Brittany was the wealthy one when they started dating. It never changed anything between them. Santana cups the cheeks of her beloved wife and allows her eyes to weep.

"All I'm worried about is that you'll be fine when I'm gone. It's not a gift to you, Brittany. It's my dad's final gift to me. So I can stop worrying."

Brittany rises from her chair so fast that it shakes up everyone peaceful state of mind. She makes a run for the kitchen and holds onto the counter to make sure she won't pass out. Eli walks in to comfort her, but she refuses an embrace. It'll only make her cry. And she can't cry.

"I used to tell her the story about us getting old together all the time." she tells him.

He's standing next to her and quietly awaits the rest. His eyes express compassion.

"Like, we will be ninety years old, sitting next to each other in a wheelchair. She'll be barking at the nurses about her meds and I'll try to calm her down. And no matter when or where, we'll hold each other's hand, because no matter how old, grey and possibly even senile both of us end up, we'll know how much we love each other."

She softly smiles and remembers all the times they talked about it. Sometimes it was to ridicule their old selves. Lately, it's more serious - a desire, a wish.

"Afterward, Santana would always laugh at me and say: 'Well, that won't be sexy at all.' And my response would be: 'Maybe not, but it'll be magical.' I adore that story, that vision of us together."

Eli nods, because he understands where this is going.

"And now you're thinking about how you might not get that happily ever after?"

Brittany hates herself for even thinking about it. But after all this talk and Santana getting sicker and sicker, it's inevitable.

"Yes." she admits. "I told her that the other day. I said we probably won't get to the magical part."

Her good friend swallows down a lost tear and loudly sniffs. He needs to be strong to get through this. For Brittany.

"What did she respond?" he asks with a shaky voice.

She looks up to him with watering eyes and a face sadder than ever. She could cry a thousand tears right now and it still wouldn't be the end of it.

"_At least it will be sexy_."

Back in the other room, Julia, Jessy and David keep their attention on an emotional Santana. She's sad that her wife feels so overwhelmed, but at the same time she's relieved - simply because things are clear now. And everyone knows about her wishes.

"You know what sucks the most?" she asks nobody in particular. "I missed four years of us together so I could protect her and now it's back. All for nothing. I could have had her all along."

She stares into the distance and heaves a frustrated sigh. She has come to terms with the possibility that her life might not last until she ends up in a wheelchair. Leaving Brittany behind, on the other hand, still scares her to death.

"Yes," David confirms, "she missed you terribly. And yes, she hated you for a while. But while you were gone she got what you wanted for her. And she built a remarkable career. She found amazing friends. All those things, they are going to get her through the grief when you're gone. She has worked on her future while you worked on your health. It wasn't for nothing, Santana. It all had a reason."

"Did it?" Santana questions his explanation.

Deep down she knows he's right. But that doesn't make it fair. She looks over to Julia and fakes a smile. The two models share a moment. Out of all her famous friends, this one has had the most impact on her life. She's even part of the family now that she's dating David.

"You've always been good for me, Santana. In your own special, brutal way." she smirks.

It pains her that she might have to let go of her precious guardian angel soon. Santana disagrees, though. Her illness has changed her for the better. She appreciates life a lot more lately. Sadly, it took some horrible fights with Brittany and the rest of her family until she figured that out.

"I'm not a good person. Never really was. I always got what I wanted because I hardly ever cared about what it would do to the people around me."

"That's determination." David specifies. "That's ambition."

"That's bullshit." Santana corrects him with a smile.

She's making amends for her bad behavior in the past. Aby is a nice word for it.

"I used to be vindictive." she explains. "But now I'm just supporting karma in a persistent and devoted way."

The company starts to smile. None of them agrees, but they remain quiet.

"You're not a terrible person, Santana." Julia suddenly decides to stand up for her own good. "You put a blanket on the dog when she's asleep just in case she'd be cold."

It's true. She does that.

"Well, you never know." Santana defends her motives.

She turns her head to search for Brittany. Around the corner, shadows are moving. When Eli resurfaces, she asks him where her wife is. He informs her that Brittany's searching for some tissues in the storage closet, since the ones on the counter were gone.

Brittany does walk into the closet and closes the door behind her. She realizes how her entire body is trembling and she can't calm herself down. Then, she starts crying. Uncontrollably.

She forgot what it feels like to _really_ cry. How it feels like when your heart is about to rip itself to make the pain go away. The last time she felt like this was when Santana walked out all those years ago. It made her eyes bleed and her heart ache. She couldn't stop herself for days, for weeks. It was the indescribable feeling of not being in control of yourself.

Her feet can't hold the weight of her suffering anymore and she softly collapses on the floor. Fear has a way of sneaking up on you. It can come at any given second, without a reason or announcement. Living a life without her one true love just doesn't seem right. Seeing her suffering like this is just brutal. And at same time, Brittany's trying to keep a tough act going. For Santana. Because of Santana. But at times like these she can't even open her eyes. Getting out of bed in the morning is horrible. The angsty feelings are there all day long. They won't go away.

Tears are streaming down her face uncontrollably, but she's cupping her mouth to silence the agonizing sounds that come from deep inside her shaking body.

It takes her three minutes to get it all out, to let the tears have their therapeutic way of expelling the tremendous fear that has creeped up on her. Brittany uses both hands to wipe her cheeks clean and gets up on her feet again. One deep breath. Two deep breaths. She lays a hand on her heart and closes both eyes for a second. She's good.

* * *

Brittany and Santana wake up like an ordinary couple the next day. They make coffee, fix breakfast and get dressed. In between sweet hugs and loving kisses, the girls end up on the couch. Yesterday was exhausting for Santana. She squinted her eyes all the way home in the car and refused to put on her glasses. Pride has a lot to do with it. After the impressive talk and emotional aftermath, the group gathered enough strength to continue being awesome all evening. They played silly games and made stupid jokes. Brittany put Macy to sleep together with Jessy and it warmed her heart to see the little baby dream so innocently. But it asked a lot from Santana, who put up her best show to remain present and strong.

As the model is going through some posts on social media of people supporting her throughout her battle, she smiles contently. There's no arguing: she has the best fans in the world.

"Just a few more days." Brittany whispers. "And we have to go to the doctor."

Santana nods in her embrace and yawns. She just woke up from a nap and is feeling tired already. The pills she's taking have that effect on her.

"I did something." she suddenly admits.

Brittany sits up straight and frowns in a suspicious way: "What is it?"

Her wife, totally upgraded with wig and glasses, stretches her back and sparks a mischievous smile. Oh, Brittany remembers that one.

"You know what I miss? What I really, really, _really_ miss?"

The blonde looks at her and detects fire in the brown eyes that hasn't been there in a while. She nods: "Modeling."

"I miss _modeling_." Santana confirms her suspicion. "I ache for it. To be in front of that lens again. For the photographer to call my name and to get up on my feet and leave the makeup chair. Those first first steps on set. The look on the assistants' eyes when they see the picture coming together. It's magical. It's the best feeling in the world. Because right in that second, everyone adores you. Everyone is there because of you. It all feels so right."

Brittany understands what she's implying and ignores the self-idolizing: "You organized a shoot?"

"Rick did. And I wanted to ask you if you wanted to join me."

Brittany shrugs: "Sure, I'll take you there."

"No." Santana clarifies with a soft smile. "In front of the camera."

The expression of the person staring at her dramatically changes. She has always refused to do that. See, Brittany's the 'behind the camera' girl. Anything in front scares her. But Santana begs. She absolutely begs her to do this for her.

"Please. You'll look beautiful. All I want is some pictures to hang up around the house. Over our bed or in the living room. The last profession pictures of us are from our wedding."

Brittany acts all offended: "And they are absolutely beautiful."

She notices how Santana casually bends forward: "They are gorgeous."

Brittany uses her charms to get excused: "_You__'__re_ gorgeous."

The Latina smiles an evil smile and pushes her glasses up her nose a bit: "You're just scared that you're going to love it."

Playful as their nature is, Brittany bends over and nods in an amused way: "I might completely put you in the shadows. That can't happen, right?"

The Latina remains quiet for a while and realizes what her wife just said. That's an Brittany-yes.

* * *

Rick Spencer is God. He has taken over every activity Santana ever took upon her. Right now, he's overviewing the fashion designing, managing the model agency and running the marketing of his company. When Santana called him to ask for a favor, he cleared his entire schedule like it was nothing, though. Because for Santana, he'd do anything.

"I can't believe this man. He's so busy, so successful. And just because you blink your eyes in a cute way, he randomly organizes a photoshoot for you."

Santana crosses her arms and leans back in her makeup chair.

"I know, it's disgusting." she ridicules the words.

Brittany throws her a shady look, but gets instructed to stay still by the person applying tons of makeup to her face. She apologizes and her more experienced wife observes her from the corner of her eyes.

"Will he be here?" Brittany then asks, while forcefully keeping her mouth from moving.

"I don't know. Maybe. He's somewhere in town, but there were some meetings and he needs to hire a new assistant to help with the launch of the spring collection." Santana explains.

"He's amazing." Brittany utters, while admiring him even more on the inside. "Like, he just flies from town to town, making decisions, orchestrating fashion shoots, managing his business."

Santana squeezes her eyes a bit closer and growls: "I'm so jealous."

There used to be a time when she couldn't stop from doing something productive. She'd run from meeting to meeting, from casting to casting and sleep whenever there were five minutes left. All because she wanted to be remembered as a hardworking, achieving and amazing artist. She had to prove to herself that this was actually the thing she had imagined and the thing she had promised her father all those years ago: to knock all the competition out of the park. Now all she does is stay at home and hope she won't be tired when she gets from the couch to the fridge and back. Some days are easier. Some days she feels amazing for no apparent reason. But they never really turn back to the old ones, where she ran across town at maximum speed, trying to exceed her own possibilities.

A while later, the makeup artists are ready. The girls get up on their feet and Santana tells her wife just how beautiful she is. It makes Brittany blush.

When they arrive at the roof top, where the shoot is taking place, Santana immediately notices the proximity of the cameras and lightening equipment to the edge of the roof. She grabs the sleeve of an assistant to object, just as Rick suddenly appears. She runs over to him to express the repulsion for the idea. The place is crowded with people she's worked with before who all end up staring at her. The photographer is actually one of her favorites: Taygon Wears.

"I'm sorry, but I'm really not getting up there." Santana stresses while keeping a safe distance from the edge of the roof.

Acrophobia. Fear of heights. She's got that bad, but only when it involves standing close to the edge of things. Rick knows his pupil more than anything and doesn't even say a word to her before immediately addressing the photographer about it.

All around her are hardworking professionals and aspiring coworkers, set and ready to start this photoshoot. Except Santana. She's anxiously grasping onto Brittany, who's trying to calm her down.

"Didn't you do one of those roof top shoots years ago? I saw the pictures." Brittany recalls.

It was when they were apart and the blonde never really understand who put her up to it.

Santana hisses at her: "They were photoshopped."

Rolling blue eyes are happening in front of her.

"Can we just continue so that I can get out of this ridiculous outfit?" Brittany sighs.

She's totally over it, and it hasn't even started yet. Santana disagrees about the ridiculous part, though. Her wife looks stunning in that beautiful, expensive red dress. For real, she has never looked prettier. It accentuates all the parts she loves about Brittany. Her hair hangs loosely down her shoulders, slightly curling. In fact, it exhales pure class. Brittany seems to have run away from a movie premiere with her outfit. It matches Santana's black cocktail dress perfectly. Her own wig is styled to perfection. There's no way on earth she'll take that off today.

The coworkers rearrange the entire setting until Santana feels confident enough to walk closer towards the edge. Brittany's holding her hand - that helps. She forgets for a second just how nervous Brittany is about her photoshoot debut. But as soon as the people in charge start directing her to strike certain poses, she notices that her wife is struggling. A reassuring hand picks up on the nervous trembling in Brittany's skin. When their eyes meet, Brittany starts to warm up to the idea of posing together with her wife. The Latina isn't just looking at her, no, she's trespassing her mind and soul. Like she's witnessing a miracle. Like Brittany's perfection and she just can't stop admiring her. The intensity of her loving glare still makes Brittany uncomfortable from time to time. Even after a lifetime together.

"I can't stand it when you look at me that way." she admits while flushing.

Santana kisses the side of her lips and, immediately, the makeup artists start protesting. The girls apologize, but giggle in secret. Rick mouths that they should stop it. Ruining their makeup might take a long while to fix. Luckily for him, he's one of the few people Santana listens to.

"Let's get started." the photographer announces.

The girls are ordered to stroll up and down the area around the posh antique bed in the middle of the roof and act casual - just as an introduction. Brittany can't stop herself from wondering how a bed is supposed to end up on a rooftop in the first place. In the background, voices reverberate. And that's nothing compared to the deafening clicking noises of the camera.

It's not really going very well and they all notice. She's too tensed, too concerned about the people around her and occupied by what they might think. Santana tells her to relax, but it's easier said than done.

"Think of it as if you're dancing across the ocean floor." Taygon suddenly suggests.

He demonstrates a short, slow walking style and both Santana and Brittany giggle over it.

"We can't do that." Santana figures.

Taygon frowns and lowers his impressive camera: "Why not?"

"I'd be worried about my hair." she explains with half a smile.

Everyone starts laughing and Brittany discovers the simplicity of it all. They are all people. They are just the same - working the job and living the life. She's not a fragile being in this situation. She's the object, the thing they came out of bed for this morning. The sooner they'll finish, the sooner all of these people can go home.

Rick walks over to the corner of the bed and growls over Santana's notorious behavior.

"I forgot how impossible you are on set." he tells her.

Taygon, clearly enjoying this too much, addresses Brittany: "Is she like this at home as well?"

The blonde wraps her arm around her beloved lady and shrugs: "Even worse."

Suddenly, Rick pulls out his smartphone and puts on some modern music. He lays the device on a nearby lightening box and awaits the girls' response. This always always helped whenever Santana felt nervous. Her first photoshoot ever, the first one after her first time battling cancer, the first one after getting back together with Brittany. Music has a way of opening people up. Santana grabs Brittany's hand and flashes that intoxicating glare at her again. Sometimes she forgets to breathe when she's looking into those clear blue eyes. The girls slowly start to dance around a bit. The atmosphere changes, everything suddenly becomes funnier. Brittany remains in direct contact to her experienced wife, but slowly dares to make some bold decisions about how to smile and where to look at. The photographer asks them to focus on him, then the sky, then each other. The last one is the easiest part. Santana mysteriously smiles the second their eyes meet. It's not even scripted, it's just a feeling that's taking complete hold of her. When Taygon tells them to lay down on the bed, Brittany playfully pushes Santana back and they fall on top of each other. The laughing is delightful to witness. Even Rick is happy to see them all playful and loving like this. It's clear: Santana is having a good day. A great day. She's loving the excitement and stress of her profession, now that she finally gets to recreate it. The girls get drawn into their alternate dimension and forget where they are for a while. Their hands move across each other's skin tenderly. Rick feels a charming smile taking over his face. David once explained this to him. How the girls are able to block everyone out - without even realizing. They kiss and suddenly, the entire crew feels uplifted. Taygon's finger quickly snaps a pic. He's pleased: it should make a great shot.

* * *

Two hours have passed and the two are done playing. The sensational feeling of staring in the fantasy revival of a world-famous artist flashes through Brittany's veins and nerves like lightening. She grasps onto Santana to jolt her entire body and briefly shrieks to free herself from all the frustrating thrills that make her feel like a superhero. No wonder Santana always came home overly excited and ecstatic. No wonder she's missing it. Rick is smiling while driving them home. Brittany reminds him a lot of a younger Santana.

But after the shaking up part, Brittany's eyes wander to the open Louis Vuitton in between their seats. There's a little teddy bear sneaking a peek from underneath a bunch of papers.

"What is that?"

Santana, wildly thrown off by the outburst of emotions exploding from her wife, follows her look and finds that pretty old, worn-off bear her mom once bought her. It's the only present she ever got from her. The one she had packed for her stay in the hospital she would never leave again.

"That's the one my mom bought me." Santana starts explaining.

The second she unburies the old bear, Brittany recognizes it. It normally stands in their bedroom. She heaves a content smile and licks her upper lip.

"I bring it to a lot of shoots." Santana continues to the silenced blonde. "The important ones. It's a bit weird, that's why I never tell anyone."

Rick secretly smiles. He has known for years. Of course he never told her.

"_You_ are weird." Brittany agrees.

Santana pulls her on her lap and kisses the bare shoulder there is to caress. It's a bit clumsy in the backseat of the car, but they manage to turn it into a giggling act.

"It's my nerdy little secret." Santana admits while scrunching her nose adorably. "Another one."

She has small eyes. The photoshoot was pretty exhausting. Luckily, they're almost home.

Ten minutes later, Rick drops them off. He tells the girls to be safe and drives off into the sunset. No paparazzi today. That's when Santana slips her hand in Brittany's and escorts her to the elevator that'll take them both to the apartment. She's being overdramatic.

"What are you doing?" Brittany wonders, keeping a curious eye on the spontaneous and slightly unconditional handholding.

They are always overly affectionate. But even this is not their usual way of interacting.

"Rick told us to be safe. And I feel safe when you're close next to me." Santana charmingly responds.

It warms the blonde's heart. Her personal supermodel looks so stunning. So at ease after the sudden photoshoot. But nonetheless: exhausted. This takes a lot from her.

They enter the apartment they call home and separate ways. Brittany gets changed, while Santana lies down on the couch. She puts a blanket on top of her pretty top and skirt outfit and quickly starts fidgeting for a minute underneath it. She actually has a laugh about it. When Brittany returns and notices the weird behavior, she asks what the hell she's doing.

"Sit down next to me." Santana orders her, quickly stopping the movements.

Her hand pats the empty space next to her. Of course, the blonde listens obediently.

"What is it, weirdo?"

"You must really love me, right?" Santana utters, rather confident about her own words.

It doesn't take long before Brittany slowly nods and shrugs.

"We've been through a lot together and … most of it was your fault."

She mischievously smiles while crawling closer to her wife. Santana decides to agree. There is a valid point in the accusation.

"But I want you to know that I'd do it all again. I'd kill someone or help you get rid of a body and still love you. That's how much you mean to me. And I also want you to know that this was the most fun I've had in forever. You always make sure I have the most fun. And that's why I love you."

Instead of kissing the love of her life, Brittany lies back and puts her feet up on Santana's lap. She enjoys stretching out on the couch.

"You want to take a nap now? I know you're tired." she suggests.

But Santana feels enchanted by the words she just heard and shakes her head.

"I need to get tired a little bit more." she suggestively answers.

Her fingers draw circles on her lover's leg. Brittany's missing the point, though.

"You want to watch some TV? Should I put on a movie?"

"No. I mean something else." Santana further explains.

The blonde clicks her tongue and bites her lower lip, thinking over the possibilities.

"You want me to run the bath?"

Santana rolls her eyes and wonders whether Brittany's kidding or not.

"No." she softly growls.

Suddenly, it's clear to her that Brittany is in fact completely oblivious.

"I want to have sex with you." the slightly annoyed Latina emphasizes. "And then I want to dance until the sun comes up."

"Oh."

The pair of panties Santana was wearing up until that point magically appears from underneath the blanket. That's what the fidgeting was for. Brittany's eyes widen. And then, her cute smirk appears.

The pieces of the puzzle suddenly drop into their designated place: "Oh."

Is Santana really not wearing anything underneath that skin-tight, pink skirt that caught her attention the second the model left the dressing room after the photoshoot? Brittany slips her hand underneath the blanket and quickly confirms her suspicion. There's an arousing heat covering her fingertips that makes her skin tingle. She grasps for a stroke of air.

This time her voice sounds a lot more sexually and that flatters Santana. "Oh."

Perhaps Santana isn't that tired after all. She dives in to kiss her favorite blonde and releases a frustrated breath the second she recognizes the warmth of her lips. Brittany's hand hasn't moved. It's still down at that naughty, aroused place between Santana's legs. But nothing's happening and Santana is aching for it to change. Truth is that Brittany's just too startled to think. She's breathing in Santana's scent, her aggressive behavior, her determination. Her other hand slips behind Santana's neck as she bends over to top her. They are already panting and nothing has happened yet.

"Do you want to stay here? Or do you want to relocate?"

"Relocate?" Santana smirks, sort of to ridicule her choice of words.

"You know what I mean." Brittany snorts in between kisses.

She's cupping Santana's fabulous breasts now and heaves a content sigh. She could touch those twins all day and still be sad to let go of them in the end. Their kissing gets heated, until Santana abruptly stops. She gets up, takes her lover's hand and leads them towards the bathroom. The blonde is calling it: shower sex. She gets crazy excited about shower sex. But Santana surprises her by stopping in front of the wall-sized mirror to strip them both down. When Brittany offers to lower her own pants, Santana refuses to allow that. She needs this, this unwrapping of Brittany's divine body - like it's a present. One exclusively reserved for her. As soon as they are both naked and all of Santana's scars and weaknesses of all the treatments are exposed, she looks into the bluest set of eyes she's ever witnessed. She can tell that Brittany still thinks she's beautiful.

"Kiss me." she begs her wife with an emotional, trembling voice. "Kiss me like it's the last time you'll ever get the chance. Like I'm the only person left on this earth. Kiss me like you want to devour me and remember it forever."

Brittany frowns over the dramatic request and caresses Santana's skinny face: "What is this about, sweetie?"

But Santana can't even explain. She needs this, more than ever. She needs this, after the thrill of the photoshoot, after the excitement of the last few perfect weeks. She needs this to be real, like it has always been before. Brittany gets it, without hearing a word. Her lips kiss the ones she has kissed for years. Her fingers start their journey up and down Santana's perfect body. They knead the flesh of the Latina's boobs and grab onto her ass tightly. Her mouth covers Santana's until they both feel dizzy and intoxicated. Their hearts are racing with the speed of light. That's when the girls remember just how much they love each other. How crazy they get over their sexual tension. Moaning sounds reverberate through the room, until Santana turns Brittany around to face the mirror. Even though she's smaller than her, Santana remains behind her, lurking at Brittany over her shoulder. Her hand slides down the blonde's abs, until they reach their designated point between Brittany's legs. It feels warm and her muscles are already pulsing. Two fingers force their way in between the pieces of skin until Brittany heaves a loud moan, almost a shriek. When the blonde opens her eyes, she's staring at her reflection and in the background, there's a curious Santana observing her. Their bodies move up and down, at the pace of Santana's directing fingers, while the Latina passionately licks the bare skin of Brittany's neck and shoulders. Her other hand is kneading the left boob that's there to grab and the sight of that in the mirror is just too hot. It takes a lot not to collapse on the floor right now. Feet are unstable, legs are faint, bodies are too absorbed with spasms of muscles to focus on remaining straight. But luckily, there's Santana to hold her wife into place. She's supporting her with whatever strength she has left. After a few fascinating minutes, the blonde releases the loudest moans of all and all her muscles tense around Santana's thrusting fingers deep inside of her. She gasps for air as the world returns to her. Her entire body radiates heat and it's all Santana's fault.

She turns around, shakes the memory of herself being sexually exposed in the mirror and pushes Santana down on the edge of the bath, who was still busy sucking her fingers clean with an admirable dedication. She kneels in front of her wife and before Santana can even say a word, she dives in to taste the deliciousness of the Latina's arousal. It completely surprises the other one, that much is obvious, because a little pull back of her hips only makes Brittany grasps onto the cheeks of her ass firmer. The blonde loves the flavor of her woman. It's sticky and sweet and warm. It arouses her even more. Santana whispers her name in between heavy panting and thanks the gods for this experience. She can't image anyone else doing this to her. Not ever. Not this way.

* * *

Their hands are firmly entwined while they are nervously counting the seconds that pass in the hideous, cold waiting room. It's that day: the meeting with the hematologist - Dr. Cullers. Something feels off. Both girls have been talking about it for days now. How Santana doesn't seem better than before. How she should, though.

"Are you okay?" Brittany carefully asks.

But Santana just sighs and stares right in front of her: "I don't know. What if I'm not?"

His face says it all, though. Dr. Cullers carries an expression that's full of compassion and personal anger. There aren't even many words said. The eyes do most of the talking. Brittany can't experience a single emotion as the appointment occurs. It's like the medical terms and bad news are a horrible nightmare. Like nothing about it is real. It certainly doesn't feel like it. She just sits there, desperately trying to remind herself she needs to breathe. The first few minutes, she even forgets to look at her wife and that causes her to feel like a terrible person once she realizes.

Spread. Cancer. Organs. Lymph system.

Santana hears it all. She recognizes the words and the angsty feelings that take complete control of her body, but at the same time, she feels numb. There's this incredible naive hope that the file in Dr. Cullers' hands is the wrong one. That it's the file from the patient stepping into this office right after her. Of course, it isn't. And as time passes, that realization comes knocking. Like a hammer. Her hand goes searching for Brittany's. Soon after it does, Dr. Cullers excuses himself to give the girls a second.

"Does this mean …" Brittany's too afraid to say it out loud and chokes up.

Her free hand grabs her throat because it actually feels soar from the rising tears she's trying to shut out.

Santana gets up from her chair in a panic reaction and exhales so excessively it immediately dazzles her. Did Dr. Cullers just tell her she's close to terminal? Does all of this medical talk and shit indicate that she's dying? Is she? Should she call Dr. De Weerdt in Belgium to ask for his advice? Should she do it right now? It must be really late right now, over there. Like, four a.m. or something. Her mind is racing. It's racing so fast that it could be someone else's.

She recalls the conversation she just had with her hematologist. How his words weren't as optimistic as always. How his voice was deep and apologetic.

"There's always this stem cell transplantation, right? We didn't do that the first time, so now you can -" she uttered just minutes ago while shutting up as soon as she started talking.

Dr. Cullers sighed and nodded. His face was so sad that she saw few options in his eyes.

"We can try that, Santana, but I'm afraid it won't work. I'm sorry, it's just …"

He stopped talking as well and that wasn't enough for her. She felt angry because he had the courage to give up on her like that.

"But I want to try." she stressed. "How can this just pop up like it's nothing? How can these tumors just grow out of nowhere and spread?"

He puts his warm hands on hers and gently caused her to calm down. Brittany was just sitting there, completely unable to process the news.

"You fought, Santana. Don't forget that. You fought really hard." he told her.

Santana started nodding and then courageously smiled: "And I'll fight until I can't anymore. We need to try."

"Okay. It's just that - I want you to be prepared." Dr. Cullers explained.

She looked at him and felt the weight of the world drenching over her. It was the worst feeling she had ever experienced.

"If it doesn't work - how long …?"

She didn't really say it. Mostly because Brittany was almost about to fall apart, but the doctor picked up on it. What if the worst was about to come?

"A year. Maybe less." he whispered.

And now she's here, flipping the fuck out - pacing up and down the room - while constantly reminding herself that trashing this office is a bad thing to do. She'd throw anything now.

Her eyes finally find Brittany and that instantly breaks her heart. This is so unfair to her. But brave, cute Brittany fights back her own fears and gets up on her feet. She walks over to Santana and swallows down the last of the fighting tears that are about to explode from inside of her. As Santana is trying to scuffle herself out of a comforting embrace that will absolutely cause her to collapse, she keeps repeating the word 'no'. Not that it matters. All Brittany wants to do is grab her and hold her until the Latina is done bawling the flood of emotions that are creeping up on her. When she finally gives in, the warmth of Brittany's hands and the familiarity of the blonde's touch break her last resistance. Her entire body starts to shake and every breath she takes feels like it's her last. She bends over and gasps for air, as the top of her head finds Brittany's toned stomach. The news has her crying in this position and for a split second, Brittany's glad she can't see her face. Because she's ought to be the strong one now. This isn't about her. It's purely about Santana. About her health, her cancer, her battle. She's simply an accomplish. Nothing about this disease has anything to do with her personally. Her gentle hands find their way to the dark color of the wig. She feels the shaking movements of her wife's head against her stomach muscles and that breaks her heart. Because nothing she can say or do will make it better.

"Can you go away now?" Santana sniffles through lost tears.

Her voice cracks. In fact, it's the saddest thing that ever left her mouth. The combination of begging and desperation is striking.

It's like she needs a moment of unrestricted loss of control. Just one moment when she won't be concerned about her wife's well-being. Where she won't be afraid that a single tear of her will break Brittany's heart. Funny how they both care more about each other's emotions than their own.

Even though she's still facing the ground and experiences every single twitch in Brittany's stomach muscles, it becomes clear that the blonde's willing to give in to her request.

"Yes, sweetie. But I'll be back in a few minutes, okay?"

It sounds comforting and determined. There's no room for discussion. And that's what Santana loves so much about her. The Latina's head moves up and down. She's too emotional to say 'yes' without crying. Brittany pulls her up and fiercely kisses the side of Santana's lips, simply to assure her of the unconditional love she has for her.

And then Brittany leaves the room and Santana is left on her own. She sits down on the same seat that brought her to the bad news. It doesn't affect her. Nothing affects her. The bad feeling she had before walking into this office is nothing compared to what she's going through now.

A half an hour passes and the model hasn't moved a muscle. She hasn't cried anymore. She barely even blinked. Fear and sadness can completely numb a person. More than the worst drug.

A short knock announces Brittany's return. She walks in with eyes flaming red and cheeks swollen from crying. When she kneels in front of her wife, Santana finally looks up. It's not the most loving exchange that ever took place, but the blonde's compassionate expression means the world to her.

"Are you angry?" Brittany asks her.

Santana nods. She has never been angrier. The sadness part has passed. Welcome to the next step of grief. In about a minute, she's capable of smashing this entire office to pieces.

"I can't drive anymore." Santana starts talking.

It's true. Her vision is blurry and her reaction skills aren't the best anymore.

"So I can't just burst out and disappear on you and go somewhere to get drunk and bitch to people."

It's a big improvement from the intentional personal attacks on Brittany when she first found out the cancer was back. It's a world apart from a time when she fled the country.

"So will you drive me?" Santana pleads. "Will you drive me to a bar where I can get monumentally fucked? Just this night?"

Brittany sighs and realizes it might not be the best idea. But at the same time she can't help but wondering: what is? Is there a good idea? Is staying at home and crying your eyes out so much better?

"Sure." she concludes. "Will you keep being angry?"

She knows Santana's characteristics better than her own. Anger is her second favorite emotion, after loving her. The Latina slowly starts nodding and numbly sighs.

"Yes. But not with you."

A soft smile momentarily lights up the atmosphere. Just enough to express their undeniable devotion for each other. Of course Santana can't be mad at her. It's impossible.

"You're way too pretty." she clarifies.

Brittany disagrees. Santana's the gorgeous top model in this room.

* * *

**You guys must think I hate you, right? For doing this to you? I know, I know, the endings always seem to be sad, but it's kind of a thing that comes naturally. You just have to cut off a chapter once in a while, or they'll get too long. Luckily, I manage to put the fluffiest part in the middle :D**

**Okay, this is one of the 4 (!) last chapters, so it contains a lot, you know. I contains the worst and the most important stuff. I has the cruel reality and that only brings out their perfect bond - their undeniable love for each other. You'll see how they connect over this, how they are in it for each other. And I think that's beautiful and realistic. It's a test and they are ACING it! **

**So please don't be mad :D If I made you cry, trust me, I did too when I re-read it :D**

**But the good news is: I've got 3 more chapters for you guys, before this story ends.**

**Okay, let me know what you thought of it ;)**


	20. Atelophobia

**Atelophobia **

_2019_

* * *

It is the fear of not being good enough. A fear that creeps up on Santana every single time she looks into Brittany's eyes. Right now, she definitely doesn't qualify as good enough. Right now, she's sick. Probably even dying. The last few days have been hard. There's been unrestrained crying and denial. Unexplainable hoping and wishing. Dr. De Weerdt is flying in tomorrow. Santana begged him, in the middle of the night to pack up his stuff and fly to America. He did.

But the potential dying part doesn't scare her nearly as much as leaving Brittany behind. Everything was going so well. Too well. They are married, happy, in love. And now it could be ending. She's feeling it in her bones. The ones that are fragile and weak. Her entire body is exhausted, like it simply can't endure any more treatment. But she has to.

The Latina is sitting on the same couch she has sat on a couple of months ago: Mr. Grady. Still handsome as hell - but in a fatherly way. He notices she has glasses too and compliments her on them. She softly smiles.

"Last time I saw you here, Santana, you pushed over my most expensive vase and stormed right out. Never expected to see you again, I must admit." he kicks off the conversation.

The intrigued patient demonstrates a naughty smirk.

"What can I say? I'm full of surprises." she tells him.

There's a silence that lasts several uncomfortable minutes. He clears his voice and squints his eyes before allowing her to speak up.

"Sorry about that. I wasn't exactly in a happy place back then." she admits while apologizing in her own weird way.

The man isn't blind. He can tell how skinny she looks. And he's well aware of her medical condition. At least, the situation she was in last time.

"And now? Are you happy to be here?"

Her tongue rubs the sides of her teeth and she's not sure what to tell him.

"I'm not _unhappy_ to be here."

The old, grey man softly smiles and nods: "See … that's progress."

"You're easily pleased, aren't you?" Santana curiously asks.

She repositions herself on the couch and nervously taps the screen of her phone. He recognizes her annoying behavior and decides to ignore it.

"Why are you here?"

His soft voice makes her think.

"Good question." she whispers, not sure if it's a question or not.

Her hand grabs the glass of water in front of her, on the low table, and she has a big draught before wiping her face clean.

"Santana?" Mr. Grady gains her attention.

"I needed a talk, I guess." she admits.

"About what?"

His soft eyes make her feel comfortable in this room again. Last time, she completely freaked out. It was a combination of fear and frustration. She's over that now. For now.

"I have cancer." she tells him, like he doesn't know it yet. "I survived it once, a couple of years ago, but now it's back. And I've tried, but it's winning. So I guess I'm dying. I am here because I'm dying and I'm freaking out and because I want to keep that from every single person around me, freaking out as well, I came here."

He clenches his jaws. This definitely isn't the news he was expecting. How does one respond to this? Even as a therapist.

"That's … heavy." he calmly utters.

Santana smiles over his comment. That's one way to put it.

"Well, I like to make things interesting as well." she assures him.

"Are you afraid?" he wonders, pretty straight-forward.

She is, but for all sorts of reasons. She remember just how weird it is - the possibility of clouding your own mind with hope and random expectations. Chemotherapy sucks, but no matter what, the mind's programmed to reach out for the best options. She hates going through all of it. And it's not like it's the first time. See, this sort of treatment is terrible. Because the first two days are fine. And those two days, you are prepared for. You expect to get sick right away and once you realize it isn't happening, something small inside of you starts wishing and hoping it'll be different from what others tell you. Maybe your body works in another way. Maybe it endures the chemicals and antibiotics betters. Those two days are the key to your attitude. Every time again, you're like: 'Okay, it's not that bad'. 'Maybe I won't get that sick'. 'I'm doing great'. But then day three sets in. And then it begins. And it's horrible. And once it starts, it feels like it'll never end.

* * *

A recently added bucket list item was making it until 2020. Ever since the bad news, things have changed a lot. Santana gave up trying to work. She spends her days at the hospital or lying in the couch. There are the exceptions where she feels great and gets to have fun with an adjusting Brittany. The blonde has learned to deal with the mood swings that cannot be tempered. The human body's a strange thing. It can break down just as fast as it has the ability to gain strength again. Santana likes to use a hangover as the metaphor to ridicule it. After a great night out, you never know what to expect in the morning. Blistering headache or a fresh, sparkling attitude. Always a surprise.

And so, 2020 means a lot to Santana. It means that she made it another year. That, against all odds, she's stronger than the doctors anticipated. Stronger than this thing called cancer. Because every day she gets to add to her life is another win. And every day she gets to spend with Brittany, is a miracle.

"Babe. I want to go to the party. Come on, everyone's going to be there."

Brittany sighs over the untiring nagging coming from her wife. She's been going at it for hours now, perfectly reenacting a five year old on a mission. Thing is: little Miss supermodel would _love_ to attend a rather fancy party with all her famous friends, while Brittany reckons going to her mom and dad's is a better decision. Health-wise, that is. In all fairness, she'd like to party too.

"Name five people you actually speak to on a daily record that will be there." the blonde dares her.

The pretty determined Latina crosses her arms over her tummy and smirks: "Julia."

"Julia doesn't count. She's an in-law."

The smirk has disappeared by now and an intrigued Santana squeezes her glasses-less eyes a little. Something tells her she might not win this fight. That's rare.

"Please, I can't spend another night at your parents'." she continues her plea. "Your mother is _horrible. _Last night she put a towel around my neck as a bib. And she cut my meat for me. I can cut my own meat."

Brittany scoffs over her comment and walks over to the woman she married. All around them, there are people. Countless people. Some for hair, some for makeup, some for fashion tips. Santana calls it her personal prep team, though most of them come just as fast as they go. Clearly, the most famous patient in the world is having a great day today. And she's determined to show it.

"Don't call my mother horrible. She's just worried about you." Brittany tells her, prying the room she's in.

Yes, most of them are secretly looking at them from the corner of their eyes.

Sure, Eleanor can get overly affectionate and concerned. But that's just the way she is. Brittany thinks it's sweet that her mother cares so deeply for her wife. That's the thing about their big family. They all get along so well. George and Brittany have been inseparable for years.

"I liked her better when she hated me." Santana sighs, while shaking her head at some outfits a younger stylist is showing her.

"No, you didn't. Look, I just don't want you to …"

But Brittany hesitates. If there's anything these past couple of months have taught her, it's not making the disastrous mistake of using her disease as a rejection or an excuse. See, only Santana is allowed to use the cancer card. Rules only apply for the ones surrounding her.

"I can handle a party, okay." Santana hisses, suddenly agitated. "This round of chemo finished three weeks ago. And Dr. De Weerdt's other options start next week. I _earn_ this party."

She looks at her wife with fierceness in her eyes. That same sparkle Brittany knows too well.

"Don't say it." Brittany rolls her eyes, too tired of hearing it.

She's going to say it.

"It's on my bucket list."

The words make the blonde sigh with frustration, not intense enough to be mad. She said it.

"Always that damn bucket list. You just keep randomly adding things you want to make me go along with it." she recalls.

Santana demonstrates her flirtatious evil smile and feels really proud about it.

"And I am so happy you love that about me." she coughs subtly.

But Brittany's mood hasn't changed too much yet. She rolls her eyes once more and tells herself not to get dragged along into one of Santana's self-flattering frolics.

"Hm. I don't." she entrusts her.

As the Latina sits down in the makeup chair put in the centre of the living room, some of the people of her entourage gather around her with brushes and powders.

It lasts a good hour, where the both of them tirelessly huff and puff over their childish behavior. Brittany is prepping herself in the bathroom, kindly rejecting the help of her wife's employees. She paces up and down the apartment, searching for an appropriate outfit and a matching hairdo. It's hilarious and the bystanders just mysteriously gloat over it. Many of them have witnessed similar scenes.

"Just wait for it." Santana whispers amusingly to the three women surrounding her. "I give it another minute."

They all mischievously smirk and await her prediction. Santana Lopez usually gets her way. Now more than ever. Brittany briefly reenters the living room to search her phone and the cock-sure Latina decides to change the game.

"If you want to go to your parents', just go. I'll be fine, all alone at the party."

The tone of her voice is off and the blonde immediately notices. The way she emphasized 'alone' makes her blood boil. This is to manipulate her. The manipulating voice. It's been used before, but it won't work this time, she promises herself.

"Okay, I will." she calmly responds, too stubborn to even discuss things like an adult.

Santana couldn't care less and shrugs: "Fine."

But Brittany's defensive wall already starts to show the first signs of cracking. Her entire body screams with frustration. Somehow, she finds it within herself to growl in an annoyed way.

"Fine!"

Including stamping foot and clenching fists. She storms out of the room again, into the bedroom, and Santana raises her hand. Her stylists waits patiently. She mouths the countdown from three to one and even demonstrates it with her fingers. When the last one is down, the pretty blonde appears yet again, all worked up and frustrated. She forcefully walks out again. And back in. Clearly, this is eating her alive. Her body doesn't move a muscle, nor does she say a word.

"So, you're coming with me?" Santana bashfully presumes in a natural voice.

When she turns her head around, she sees just how angry Brittany is at herself. Her arms are crossed, her back is straightened and her face is clearly the reflection of defeat.

"Yes." she utters submissively.

There's even a pout. A pout that secretly ensures her it's not even that big of a deal to give in. It's dead cute and the little smile that Santana is carrying suddenly makes her feel a little bit better about being whipped this much. Because she can't help but making her happy. It's the goal of life, it's the only thing she might be able to do for her from now on. Santana feels good about winning this one, but not as much as feeling loved. Because Brittany can be stubborn as hell if she wants to. And every time she changes her mind over something Santana wants, it means the world to her.

The second her wife can't hear her anymore, the Latina's eyes flare up at the girls suppressing an enjoying smile.

"How do you always do that?" one of them asks.

She's a pretty Asian girl. That's probably the reason why Santana hired her in the first place. The model shrugs and demonstrates her smug face.

"I'm very, very stubborn and filled with evil. But in a cute way."

Suddenly, a terrifying shriek startles them all. One of the makeup girls actually almost pokes out one of Santana's eyes with the mascara stick she's holding.

"What the hell?" she yells, after Brittany comes running in from the bathroom.

The she sees it: her entire upper body is covered in glitters. So is her neck and the bottom of her face. Santana frowns and holds up her hands to ask what the hell happened.

"I dropped the box of glitters." Brittany confesses, totally ashamed about it.

It'll take at least one shower and a complete makeup do-over to fix that. Santana gets up on her feet and observes the hilarious picture. She clears her throat and bites her lower lip. She also refrains from taking a selfie with this glittery monster.

"You look like you just came back from a strip club."

Brittany demonstrates her evil eyes but immediately resorts to spontaneous laughter.

"Okay, okay." Santana sighs, while carefully rubbing the sides of her wife's arms as if she were contagious. "We can fix this. Uhm - let's see."

She turns around and points at some of the people around.

"Bethany, Zion, Claire. Help us out a little bit, okay? Take this -"

She circles around the grinning blonde and grabs the back of her shoulders to identify the subject.

"- beautiful Tinker Bell and turn her into the most gorgeous, jaw-dropping, eye-tingling, panty-quivering, jealousy-attack-causing, gay-radiating date I ever got to bring to a party."

The trio jumps to its feet like a goddess just ordered them to go to work and start rambling about all the ideas that flash through their mind. Brittany's feeling very appreciative over the kind action of her wife and turns around to stare at her in a loving way. When she bends over to kiss her, Santana stops her though. The caramel fingers point at all the glitters taken possession of Brittany's body and she shakes her head reluctantly.

"Maybe later." she suggests.

* * *

"Okay, let's queer it up a bit in here." Santana joyfully announces while handing her coat to someone at the entrance.

Brittany's eyes are still flashing from all the camera men targeting them on their way in. This party must be the most important event of the evening, given the press attention. There are blank spots everywhere, like there's firework and she's the only one who sees it. Santana holds her hand, so it's pretty safe to assume she won't stumble while readjusting her vision. It's funny, how despite the circumstances, Santana turns out to be the supportive person this evening. Like the promise of a good night out keeps her up on her feet steadily - it makes her body forget about the cancer for just a few hours. But fair is fair: Brittany and Santana made a pact about this New Year's Eve. There will be no talking about the cancer. No thinking about the cancer. No predicaments or worries about the cancer. The cancer simply does not exist. It's not present. It never actually happened. The only thing that did, is the two of them - their connection - their marriage. Later tonight it'll be 2020. And that's all that matters to Santana. She wants to party. She wants to use all her energy and exploit it until the sun comes up again tomorrow morning. Because tomorrow guarantees to be a bad day.

"You look pretty." Brittany tells her, while finally regaining her sight.

Santana is wearing contacts now. It hurts her eyes a little, but no way she's entering this glamorous party with her cancer glasses. That's how she calls them. To Brittany, they're just glasses. Pretty, expensive glasses. They make her wife look like a hot secretary.

"And you look like a goddess. Less sparkly than before, though." the Latina mocks her.

"Are you feeling okay?" Brittany wonders to check up on her.

She wouldn't feel good about herself if she refrained from asking. This Lopez girl is her main concern. All the other models and artists could strip down right this second, she'd still only look at her.

Santana nods and looks at her with determination in her eyes. She's being honest: everything about tonight feels okay. Her body's slightly tired, but less than usual. It's excitement that is taking over.

Normally, the two of them don't attend these kind of parties too often. Brittany's not a big fan of them and to Santana it's simple: if Brittany doesn't want to tag along, it just won't be as much fun.

"Where are your friends? And David?" Brittany asks, while staring into the poorly lit room.

Famous people like to hide in the dark. There must be five hundred of them. And one by one, they start noticing the it-couple's presence. Luckily, Santana's own blood and flesh is one of them.

"You're here. I didn't think you'd make it." David joyfully proclaims while he sneaks up on them from the side.

The girls light up as they recognize him and hug it out for a while. Julia quickly appears as well.

She rolls her eyes at Santana and sighs: "God, so many people. Everyone wants to talk."

Such a burden to be famous. Brittany and David silently grin. They enjoy the more invisible aspect of success. Few people can name three editors without Googling it first. And David's blog has been faceless since the start of it. It'll probably always stay that way.

A shrieking utter of recognition resounds and everyone looks up to find one of the relatively new pop artists of the last few years: Tezz. She's small and a bit eccentric. But that's probably what Santana likes so much about her. She bends over to the brunette and kisses her softly on the cheek. They met at a party two years ago and hit it off right away. The group chats a little. They have drinks and they dance. Suddenly, Tezz wiggles her black hairs around the place and faces Santana.

"You weren't in London or New York for the fashion weeks in September?" she suddenly remembers.

The Latina shakes her head nervously and lowers her voice: "No, I was - uhm - sick. I couldn't make it."

Suddenly, everyone gets drastically reminded about the illness of their most known friend. Brittany gently and lovingly strokes the caramel skin of her wife's lower arm. Nobody around here would ever realize she's sick if they hadn't read the news in a paper. The glam team has done a colossal work. And it's not like she wasn't skinny before she got cancer.

Tezz stares at the beautiful woman wearing a designer strapless, black gown and realizes how ruthless her question appeared to be. She apologizes, but Santana tells her it's fine. She's here now and it's great. She's wearing an amazing outfit. Her hair - technically a wig - is hanging loosely down her shoulders, slightly tickling the skin of her bare back. Her high heels are to die for. And she has Brittany, holding her hand. The blonde is looking amazing, as always. Perfect makeup, perfect white dress, perfect face. Perfect wife.

People come and go - everyone kisses everyone. Most of the people attending haven't seen Santana in public in ages. They all know her condition, yet nobody is brave enough to mention it. Lucky thing, though, because Brittany might be capable of punching them in the face.

As the evening progresses, they all start dancing. The entire atmosphere is festive and glamorous. It's New Year's Eve after all. Just as their feet are starting to get worked in, Santana's throat starts to feel dry. She's already exhausted, but it's manageable. There have been worse days. She has an amusing look at the frenetically dancing people around her and can't help but feeling happy. Genuine, unrestrained glory captivated her - it mesmerizes her for a whole minute.

Tezz hugs her the third time this evening and Brittany can't help but feeling a bit playfully jealous about it. She sneaks up on the popular showbiz phenomenon and squeezes her eyes.

"Are you in love with my wife, Tezz?"

The black haired beauty looks up to her and her hands come resting on her bare arm.

"Love is a lot of things. When it's good, it's the reason you're living. When it's bad, it's the reason you're dying."

Brittany has no idea where it's coming from, but it is in fact, one of her song lyrics. The poetic attitude of those musicians nowadays is quite something.

"Oh, you're cute." Brittany tells her, while winking at Santana. "Such a romantic. You're straight?"

"Yes." Tezz nods with a cute smile.

Santana bends in to throw in a classic joke and reaches for her most charming expression: "Well, we can help you with that."

"Santana, stop teasing her." Brittany tells her strictly, afraid the pop star might take them up on that offer.

The wives chuckle and that's when Santana realizes just how thirsty she is.

"I'm going to get us some drinks, okay?" she tells Brittany, right before kissing her on the side of her lips.

She goes on the search for the bar and crosses her dear friend Katy McGrath, who's passionately discusses one of her latest parties to a group of friends that normally hangs around Taylor Swift or Katy Perry.

"I was at a party last week, and this guy - complete jerk who spends daddy's money - jumps into the swimming pool. With his laptop in his hands. And I'm like: who does that. Right?" she says in a girly voice.

The group expresses a rehearsed laughter. Santana smirks and pats her on the back. The Asian looking girl looks up and recognizes her immediately.

"Santana!" she shrieks before wrapping both arms around her neck. "I didn't know you'd be here."

She kisses her pale cheek a few times and holds on to her hands a little bit too long. Her eyes ask the question she doesn't want to say out loud: is she okay? Santana nods. All things considered, she is. At least tonight.

"We're over there. Come say hi to us later. Julia's here too. And Brittany."

Kathy promises she will. She looks a lot healthier than before. Together with a therapist and a doctor, she's working on her bad habits to remain skinny. It seems to be working. Somehow, Santana's complete verbal throwdown worked. After saying goodbye, she proceeds her route to the bar. Two glasses of champagne are being ordered. The rest isn't in need of a refill yet.

To her right, there's a man staring at her. Weirdly, it's flattering to feel this admired, especially after all the sick crap. Sure, the makeup team had a lot to do with it tonight, but that doesn't matter. He's a man, but that doesn't matter either. He offers her a cigarette, right after she kindly greets him.

"No, thanks. I'm acapnotic."

She looks around and realizes it's pretty prohibited to smoke in here. Clearly, this older, grey millionaire-like man couldn't care less. The only thing that interests him, though, is the word she just used.

"I don't smoke." she clarifies.

For a man his age, she's certainly capable of looking like a foolish teenager.

"I've had a lot of time lately. Been reading the dictionary." she tells him, before accepting the drinks a waiter hands her.

Boredom does a lot of things to a person. Since work is no longer an option - at least on most days and on doctor's orders - a person resorts to the craziest things to keep themselves entertained. Like a dictionary.

"God, you are way too pretty." he suddenly lets her know. "No, seriously, you are gorgeous. You are my favorite model since … ever."

It's obvious he recognizes her. She softly smiles. It's not the first time someone has said something similar.

"Thanks."

He scoots over to her side and leans on his elbow to have a proper look at her.

"Santana Lopez. You must have all the men love you and all the women hate you." he romantically fantasizes.

She squints amusingly and shakes her head: "Well, I have a wife, so I certainly hope she doesn't hate me."

He doesn't get the clue and, again, his manly ignorance shows.

"I like women." she clarifies.

Santana is way too happy to witness this sudden dazzled behavior. Seriously, does he not read the paper?

He twists his head and wiggles his nose a second: "Like in a feminist way?"

"Sure." she nods before exploding with laughter. "But also in a gay way."

Ultimately, he realizes she's a lesbian. That makes him gloat with joy: "It must be awesome to be this perfect."

The way he's staring at her, the way his head is positioned on his supporting fist and the way his eyes admire the perfection in front of him warms her heart. People still think she's gorgeous.

"Hm," she seems to disagree, though. "I'm currently dying from cancer, so perfect's a bit exaggerated."

His smile drops the second her words sink in. She might be overreacting about the state of her condition, but still … Out of nowhere, she gets surprise-attacked by the love of her life. The champagne sloshes over the edge of the glasses and in a desperate attempt to keep the deliciousness from completely ending up on the floor, Santana jumps aside to free her from the warm, tight touch of her lover.

"Brittany!" she shrieks.

The millionaire that was talking to her all that time witnesses the spectacle and smiles approvingly, only to excuse himself and disappear a few moments later.

"What was that?" Brittany asks her curiously.

Her wife shrugs and she's aware that her entire attention is focussed on the hot blonde in front of her: "I challenged him to a little game called 'guess my sexuality'."

"You weren't flirting with him. You changed." Brittany notices after flirtatiously licking the spilled champagne off Santana's fingers.

It makes the Latina slightly shiver. She's about to invite her wife to the bathroom and do very bad things to her. In fact, she might put it on her bucket list - the one for tonight.

"Maybe I did. The thing is, when I'm with you, I forget about the rest of the world. Even the people in it." she romantically explains.

Brittany stares into her eyes and forgets about the festivities around them. There's nothing but blue eyes and brown eyes shamelessly staring at each other. There's a white dress and a black dress, matching perfectly. There's Santana and Brittany, and the overwhelming desire to kiss each other within the next minute. There's no sound or music. No flashing disco lights or dancing people. Suddenly, they both realize how other people call this: AA-meetings.

* * *

Brittany is totally wasted. So wasted that Santana is discovering a whole new side of her. Though she thought she had seen all of her, this night turns out to be a great surprise. The group shifted to a corner of the dance hall now - near the bathroom. Just in case one of them might end up having to puke. Everyone bet fifty bucks it'll be Brittany. Susan, workaholic number one, found the time to join the friends. She walked in way too late and practically jumped everyone in all her excitement. Still that same crazy personality. Still adorable and rude at the same time.

When Santana finds her wife after having a dancing chat with her famous coworkers, Brittany's leaning back against the wall. Her hair's a mess from acting out and playing around, but that's fine. Even Susan agrees that she looks genuinely happy. Tomorrow morning, she _might_ feel different about it.

Brittany's eyes find her. They are flirtatiously checking out Santana from the other side of the room. Her butt is swaying from left to right, following the beat of the music. She looks like a goddess while dancing. But the level of alcohol has an effect on her movements. Her feet are unstable - especially on those killer heels - and her equilibrium is just shit. Suddenly, she completely tumbles to the right and Santana reaches her just in time to grab her hand.

"Now that's sexy." she sarcastically tells her wife.

For real though, if should be illegal for a person to be this effortlessly sexy. Brittany's blurry eyes soften and a giggling laughter appears: "Want to have sex in the bathroom?"

Santana kindly refuses the offer and has a sip of her glass. She's not really allowed to drink. Dr. De Weerdt thinks it's very damaging to drink alcohol, she feels like it's okay - at least for tonight. She's been a perfect patient for months now. She's been taking her meds, attending the appointments, listening to the doctors. She gets the night off. Tonight is her one night off.

"I'm going to find Susan, okay? And I'll be right back." Brittany stutters.

"Do you want me to come with you? You look rather unstable." Santana bluntly responds.

The blonde shakes her head and kisses her wife intensely for a whole minute. Her fingers pinch the flesh of Santana's neck. It's a reaction of desire, of need. Also, of alcohol. The sensation makes Santana's lips tremble. And all the others watch.

"I'll be fine." Brittany assures her. "I'll get a glass of water and I'll be fine."

It's not just Santana that deserves this night off. Being here is liberating for Brittany too. Because she's just as much a prey of this cancer as Santana is. It completely overshadows her life, it controls it - the fear of losing Santana, of living a life without her.

By the time the blonde disappears from her sight, the sweating model realizes it's almost midnight. See, wearing a watch isn't fashionable when you're draped in diamonds and jewelry. So naturally, someone around must point out the hour of the moment. Four more minutes. That makes Santana panic. 2020 is symbolical to her. It's about surviving, about making it to another year. But that means nothing is the first second can't be spend pressed against the lips of her beloved wife. Her feet feel tired. Her entire body is exhausted from the endless dancing. It's been glorious - it's been amazing. And now it's almost time for the countdown.

She runs around the place and accidentally bumps into a few of her familiar colleagues. They all hug and kiss her. She smiles and pats their shoulders with the most radiant smile that has ever taken control of her face. This party is insane. Never has she ever seen so many public people acting like total random fools. The host of tonight orders to slow the music down and starts to talk. He's commenting the wonderful year America's had. The beautiful reproductions of the movie and music industry. The gorgeous models and actors attending this event. He smiles every once in a while, thinking about how great his life is. Suddenly a bright beaming crosses the entire room. A massive countdown sign appears across the wall. Twenty more seconds. Santana's eyes quickly flash through the room. Where is she? Where is Brittany?

Something blonde appears in the distance. It's unstable, it's on the move, it's confused. It's Brittany! Santana heaves a big sigh and makes her way through the people that are already preparing themselves for the explosion of celebration. God, she's feeling exhausted. One more hour, that's all she's giving it. After that, she'll need to go to bed.

Ten more seconds.

The host encourages them all to participate in the countdown. Dozens of superstars do as he says. It makes Santana smile for a hot second. Then, she runs over to grab the hand of the woman she loves. Two more seconds. Brittany's eyes flare up at her and the expression of relief warms the Latina's heart.

"I didn't know where you were." the blonde utters, in what seems like a little panic attack.

But Santana doesn't say a word. Just one more second.

She cups the face of the prettiest person she knows and pulls her so close that their lips naturally blend. Midnight strikes. Loud music and cheering reverberates. And then there's fireworks. Fireworks everywhere - in the sky, in the room, in their hearts. The girls experience the warmth of each other's lips and enjoy it for a couple of enchanting seconds. When they ultimately part, all their friends have gathered around them. They cheer and throw their hands up in the air. Pecking and smooching happens. Santana refuses to let go of Brittany's hand, but starts jumping up and down until her health stops her. She's panting and the blonde notices.

"Are you okay?" she wonders.

"I'm fine." Santana tells her. "I'm just very tired, but that's okay."

It looks like Brittany did get that glass of water, because her level of intoxication seems to have dropped. Maybe her worrying kicked it to the background.

"Sure?"

"Yes?" Santana nods. "Brittany, I am _so_ sure. This might be my very last New Year's party ever. I probably won't make it 'til the next one and that's okay. Because, babe, … I'm having _so_ much fun. I am dancing my ass off. And there's friends and music and joy. Nothing reminds me of death. Nothing about this is sad or depressing - except that girl's outfit."

She turns around and points out a passenger. Brittany chuckles. She's still awfully drunk, though. She spent more time kissing Santana this evening than talking to her. To her, that's a productive day. Santana's eyes flare up at her once more and that's when she recognizes the joy that's always been there whenever she was having fun.

"I'm happy, Brittany. I am close to dying, but this might be one of the happiest days of my life. Thanks to you."

"Well, in all fairness, I was being selfish. I would do everything for you, Santana, but spending New Year's Eve with my family was even too much for me to handle - so I tricked you into going to this party."

It's a total lie and Santana knows it. Her caramel fingers poke the sensitive ribs of her lover and she pulls a scrunchy face.

"Shut up."

Brittany obediently shuts up.

"Smile."

Brittany smiles.

"Kiss me."

It's adorable. Brittany bends over and kisses her. Softly, tenderly, passionately. With her arms wrapped around her neck. Bodies pulled close together.

"Happy New Year." Santana whispers through her mouth.

"Happy New Year, my love." she gets in return.

They part and it hurts. Santana twirls around to run into David's arms. The cousins dance for a while and drag Julia into the ridiculousness. Susan got her hands on a relatively known rocker, Seth Brendan. He's the lead singer of a band called Messiahs. They are kissing. But then again, everyone's kissing.

Seeing all of it, all this joy, all this careless behavior and harmless fun - it suddenly makes Brittany choke. It makes her anxious and scared. Because this has been a wonderful night. An amazing memory. But somehow, she's secretly sad about how there might be no 'happy' in this new year. It might be the year the love of her life will die. All facts point in that direction. All failures of treatment make it seem so. So this new year could turn out to be the worst year of her life. And look at Santana, being all positively hysterical about it. She's laughing, so much that her eyes sparkle like diamonds. She's dancing, so heavily in ways that her body hasn't moved in months. She's happy, so genuinely that for a rare moment, her sickness disappears from her mind.

* * *

**Now this was a fun chapter to write. It was all partying and - hello: NEW YEAR'S EVE PARTY ! **

**Did you guys like it?**

**2 more chapters, people. Two more ;)**


	21. Abattoir

**One of the last chapters ... I hope you'll like it.**

* * *

**Abattoir**

_2020_

"You look like shit," George laughs when he walks into the bedroom of the girls.

Santana is spread across the bed. Brittany's lying next to her - upside down. She's practically hugging her wife's leg. In the living room, the bald man passed the spiritless bodies of his nephew and his girlfriend. They ended up on the couch. Susan - well, nobody really knows where she disappeared to with that rocker boy. It was a memorable party. So memorable nobody remembers a damn thing. How the hell did they even get home? Sure the paparazzi will show them in a few hours.

Santana opens an eye and immediately realizes that last night might be one of the dumbest ideas she's ever had.

"Dad, what are you doing here?" she mumbles while covering her face under the sheets.

There's barely any light, yet it's killing her. Her old man tries to find the fun side in all of it, but he's well aware that his daughter shouldn't be drinking. He just came to check up on his little girl.

"It reeks like alcohol in here."

"I dropped a bottle," Santana explains while reminding herself not to puke.

She crawls on her knees and is so proud of herself after discovering she put on a pajama when she got home. No memory of that what so ever.

"In your mouth?" her father smiles.

She needs a second to remember what the conversation is about. Oh, right. Bottles. There have been a lot of those yesterday. Very expensive champagne bottles.

"I drank like an immortal last night. So excuse me while I'm having the hangover of my life," she apologizes.

He gets her up on her feet and immediately notices how worn out she is.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

She nods. Going out might not have been the _best_ idea, but it was the most _fun_. She'd be miserable if she had missed it. Not that she's feeling any better right now. When she quickly glances at her wife, she can't help but smile. Brittany looks like a drowned cat covered in piles of sheets and towels - head down. Did she take a shower late last night before dropping into bed? Did she jump into a fountain? Who knows?

Ten minutes later, she's seated at the kitchen counter, cupping a strong cup of coffee her daddy made her, wearing shades. David and Julia continue their beauty sleep in the living room.

Santana's body feels week and all her muscles are cramped. The sunglasses covering her eyes are hilarious, especially with her fluffy hair pointing in all directions. Ultimately, Brittany joins them and she can't stop yawning for a solid fifteen minutes. George snickers.

"Yesterday was awesome," the blonde whispers with a sore throat after tenderly kissing her wife. "Today is horrible."

She reaches for the sunglasses on Santana's nose, but the Latina playfully fights her off. George softly smiles over the cute interaction. These girls have been lighting up his life ever since they stepped into it. They forget about the presence of Santana's father for a while and pull each other close for a loving kiss, arms wrapped around each other. Even hungover, they can't stop this behavior.

"Are you okay?" Brittany asks all concerned when they part.

Her fingers linger over the cheeks she adores to smooch while her eyes execute a thorough examination of her wife's body. Santana nods and can't help but think all of this worrying is dead-cute.

"I _love_ these sunglasses. Am I staring at that painting? Am I staring at your boobs? Who knows!?" the model jokes the most obvious joke.

She buries her head between Brittany's braless chest and makes the blonde giggle. George holds up his hand in a protesting way and sighs.

"Enough, enough," he orders them. "You've had all night to do that."

Brittany scoffs and takes a sip from her lover's cup of hot coffee.

"You'd think. But _someone_ passed out the second we got home," she smirks. "Right after she told me she had superpowers. She took a cute, little run-up and jumped on the bed."

Brittany holds her hand up in the air to demonstrate the curve of Santana's movement. George patiently awaits the next part, but the girl just shrugs.

"And that was it. She fell asleep right that second. Nothing but drool and snoring for the next few hours. Quite the superpowers."

Santana's small fingers poke her wife, but her movements suddenly completely stop. A stinging feeling just passed her ribcage and that didn't feel right. Nothing that didn't happen before, though. She's used to it by now.

"You can't do this to your body, Santana. It's not good for you," George gently explains after witnessing the change in her behavior.

"I can do whatever I want, dad. Sad truth," Santana coughs while shutting her eyes tightly.

She breaths in and out. And again. It slowly starts to feel better. Brittany carefully and supportively caresses her cheek, hoping the soft gesture might help her get through it.

"No one listens to me anymore," the old man mumbles as he rolls his eyes.

Brittany, completely absorbed by the intensity of pain that's taking control of Santana's face, looks up all confused and frowns: "I'm sorry. You were saying?"

* * *

Dr. De Weerdt has started an experimental treatment he used in Belgium a few times. In some cases, it worked. In others, it failed terribly. Santana doesn't care, though. As long as she's trying, she'll feel better about herself. Because if she won't, it'd mean she's giving up. And she can't do that. She owes Brittany her best effort - her biggest fight. The girls are preparing for another stay at the hospital. Normally, Santana will stay there for about two weeks. But that might change along the way. She's weak right now. Weaker than usual. Her sickness is catching up with her energy level. The New Year's Eve party last week took about all she could handle. Ever since then, she has laid in bed and slept. Brittany took work home and spent all her free time by her side: computer on her lap, Santana's head on her shoulder. When their friends wanted to visit, Brittany urged them to keep their distance for a while. Santana hated that people could see her like this and her wife understood.

"Sweetie, have you seen my glasses?" Santana annoyingly sighs through the apartment. "I'm in a situation where I'm aware that I own glasses but I lost the glasses and now I need the glasses to find the glasses."

Brittany's astonished about that little literary work of art and smiles. When she walks into the living room, she finds her wife heavily panting on the couch. She must have gone through the apartment, searching for the glasses she loathes so intensely. The smallest movement seems to be a lot of work lately.

"Here," Brittany says, while holding them up for her to see - they were in the bedroom. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Santana smiles as she puts the black instrument on her nose and heaves a relieved sigh once she recognizes the things around her.

"You can talk to me for _two_ minutes if you like," she amusingly assures her.

Her hand faintly pats the empty seat on the couch. Santana's body is drained, hence the lack of enthusiasm. It's a nervous feeling that's creeping up on Brittany. This whole checking into hospital thing is scaring her, mainly because during all previous committals her wife was in a clearly better condition. Something about dr. Cullers diagnose - about Santana probably not making it another year - won't let her go. Because what if it's true? What if, despite all of Santana's brave comments and determination to fight, she will be gone soon? What if those funeral plans will take place?

Her fingers search for those that have held hers for years now. Those who know her skin best. She nervously inhales and exhales and squeezes the caramel flesh she adores. Santana asks her what's wrong.

"Sweetie, I've been thinking. What if …"

She can't even say it without tearing up. Santana faces her and caresses her cheek. She knows what this is about. Brittany's scared. So is she.

"You need to promise me that, if this doesn't turn out well - if you … die - promise me you'll say goodbye to me."

Her eyes are dark and determined. Santana nods while experiencing a tremendous heartbeat taking control of her chest. She wouldn't dare to leave this earth without saying her last words to Brittany.

"And you'll talk to Him. Or Her."

Suddenly, the Latina frowns all confused and even dares to smile: "What?"

"God," Brittany bravely continues.

It's a dream she had last night. A dream in which it all happened and she found a way out. It won't let her go. She's not even sure if she believes in God. But there's a small chance - and that's enough.

"If you die and you see God, beg. Plead. Yell, shout, threaten. Throw a vase at him, if necessary. But fight and refuse to do anything until you get to come back to me. Promise me."

It's so desperate, it's borderline cute. Santana heaves a defeated sigh and lowers her head.

"It doesn't work like that, babe," she whispers softly, afraid it'll break Brittany's heart.

But Brittany refuses to give up hoping, so she shakes her head all sad: "You don't know that."

Her eyes are filled with tears. Just looking at them makes Santana's heart bleed. The model opens her arms and pulls her wife in for a tight hug. The small body of Brittany crashes on top of her.

"It'll be okay, babe," she shushes her. "No matter what happens. It'll be okay."

* * *

They checked in. Santana got her first round of special treatment in the luxury room they reserved for her. First there were scans, then there were injections. Finally, bags of chemotherapy got connected to her IV. Now she's in bed all day and all night, mostly asleep, rarely awake. Whenever her eyes open, she asks for Brittany. The blonde is always by her side, holding her hand or running fingers through her short hairs. She cancelled work for a couple of months, just to be with the woman she loves. She'll cancel it forever if she has to.

David walks into the hospital bedroom and finds his old friend on the windowsill. Her hair's a mess, her eyes look tired. She's been up all night, listening to the troubling and moaning noises echoing from Santana's battling body. Every time Santana stirs in bed, her eyes flare open wide.

"Hi," he whispers. "What's going through your mind?"

His eyes glance at the sleeping Santana for a second, before making his way over to Brittany. The blonde doesn't really turn her head. She just stares into the distance and sighs in a dramatic way. This windowsill has been her thinking bench for a long while now. It's where her brains start working.

"You know, I used to think that your whole life, you were supposed to work toward a goal. Studying, working, practicing your skills. All for a greater cost. For that dream job, that little extra money. I did that. I studied really hard, I got into the best schools, I'm in my late twenties and I already have an amazing career."

She then looks at him and he can't really respond. Julia isn't with him. She stayed at home, simply because there aren't a lot of visitors allowed. She'll visit in the morning.

"But I was wrong," she continues after realizing he won't say a word. "And it's so stupid that I didn't realize it earlier. _Finding_ her, being _in love_ with her, that's the thing that has truly fulfilled my life. It has made it _extraordinary_. And none of those things that have kept me occupied had anything to do with it. They just kept me away from my main goal: making her happy. And guess what? I _did_ make her happy, with that little time I had with her. I put a smile on her face, made her laugh out loud, made her feel safe when she got scared. Me, I did that and I didn't even have to do anything special."

Brittany points at her own chest, like she barely even believes it herself. David walks over to her and puts his hand on her shoulder. She runs her fingers through her tangled hair and sighs. He nods, like he understands what she's talking about. Maybe he does - he found happiness with Julia. He finally realized what it is to be in love. To be utterly consumed by your feelings for someone else.

"Loving her has been the point of my life. And now that I realize it, I have to say goodbye to her. You know, I keep saying the same thing - that it isn't fair. And it's true. Because I deserve another fifty years with her, really. To put that same smile on her face again, to see those dimples on her cheeks when she does and to have this amazing, exceptional feeling when I realize that I am the cause of it. Do you know how wonderful it is to be with her? How everything she does and every word she says enlightens my day? How it pains me not to spend every second of the day with her when I'm gone? Do you know how badly I want all eternity?"

David does. He has seen these girls all his life. There couldn't be a bigger example of love. Everything he knows, everything he feels whenever he's around Julia, it has played in front of his eyes before. During sleepovers or parties. While they sat around the dinner room table or jumped up and down the big couches of the Lopez house. Whenever Santana looked over at Brittany and she looked back and the rest of the world disappeared. All these AA-meetings are marked in his memory.

"I understand," he tells her. "I really do. I want another fifty years of my amazing friendship with her as well. But we have to accept that we probably can't have that. We can, however, get the most out of the remaining time we have together. And with those memories that are already up in here …"

He lays his index finger on her forehead. She closes her eyes all desperate.

"… and here …"

His hand moves to her heart.

"… she can live on forever, even though losing her might not have been fair."

It's bullshit. At least to Brittany it is. She can't stand seeing her wife like this, so helpless and fragile. Santana is a fighter. She's a raging devil, never afraid to kick the problem square in the balls. If she won't make it, no one will. Why isn't it working this time?

It has been weeks now. Weeks of trying and experimenting and nothing seems to work. In fact, Santana only deteriorates. She's getting more sick and weak as the hours pass.

"She calls this an abattoir," Brittany eventually sighs.

"Abattoir?" David repeats all confused, not immediately following Brittany's change of subject.

The blonde nods and mysteriously smiles: "She never did get any further than the letter A in the dictionary."

When she looks over to one of her dearest friends, she finds his troubled eyes.

"It means 'public slaughterhouse'," she explains. "You know her, always finding the most charming aspects in a situation."

Machines are beeping and wires are pushing fluids into the fragile, skinny body of Santana. It's hard to witness. Something about this hallway does exhale the atmosphere of a slaughterhouse, once you go searching for it. David invites Brittany for a cup of coffee down the hall. She accepts the offer. Getting out of this room might clear her mind for a second.

* * *

Another three weeks pass. George offered to trade places with Brittany, so she can get some rest. Naturally, Brittany refused. Every night anew, she falls asleep on the uncomfortable bed next to Santana luxury hospital bed. It squeaks and it hurts her back, but nothing will get her away from Santana's side. The doctors are barely talking to the family, mostly because they don't have a lot of positivity to spread. Each time George or Eli inform themselves about Santana's current condition, Dr. Cullers charismatic smile faints. And as soon as Dr. De Weerdt addresses them, he emphasizes the lack of guarantees this treatment has. The guy's hasn't returned to Belgium once.

Brittany slowly starts to accept that her supermodel wife might not be a superhero. In between visits from family members, the girls discuss funeral arrangements. It makes them sob silently. At times Santana is so lucid that Brittany holds out fashion magazines for her to judge. Snarky comments make her smile. Anything to make the Latina smile.

Her caramel skin seems grey now and her eyes are small. Those lean fingers are nothing more but skinny bones and her hair has fallen out once again. Still, nothing can convince Brittany of the fact that she's the most beautiful woman in the world. Her wife. She gets to call her _her wife_.

Susan is standing on the other side of the window that's keeping her from the room Santana is in. There's an air pressure system that makes sure no unclean outside air gets into the room, to avoid infections. That's why so little people are allowed inside. When Brittany notices her old friend, she nods to tell her she'll be there soon.

When they face, the girls hug.

"How are _you_?" Susan asks all worried.

She curiously searches for Santana, who's fast asleep. Susan hasn't seen her with eyes open in a long time. Brittany just shrugs and walks her to the nearby coffee corner. She spends most of her days on this floor. Each time she gets hungry of thirsty, this room is the place to be.

"Dr. De Weerdt came by an hour ago," Brittany tells her.

Her eyes are all puffy and swollen. It's from crying. Susan doesn't really want to say anything, but Brittany's clothes are dirty and wrinkled. Maybe Santana accidentally threw up on them. Maybe Brittany didn't notice. It wouldn't be the first time.

"It doesn't look good," Brittany continues. "But I guess we already knew that, right?"

Her tough act fails terribly. Especially in front of Susan. There's no room for jokes or sarcasm here, which makes the girl rather uncomfortable. Instead of saying anything, she offers her a piece of cake she brought along. Brittany has always loved cake. The blonde takes a small bite and it's clear how much it takes of her to swallow the sweets. Food isn't exactly on her mind lately. All she thinks about is that helpless creature in that bed, attached to machines and wires. It kills her to see Santana mumble in her sleep, when she's dreaming or hallucinating. It kills her to hear her breathing with so much trouble.

"She might be gone soon," Susan nervously concludes. "Have you thought about life after that? About what you're gonna do? Move back home to your parents or stay here?"

There's been a lot of talking, just not to Brittany's face. All her friends and family are really worried about the person that'll be left behind. It's a tragedy that Santana might die. And all facts point in that direction. Now more than ever. But nonetheless, Brittany's the one to pity. She's the one that'll have to face this life alone once Santana passes. A lot of people fear she might not be capable.

"I don't know," Brittany sighs as she puts her hands around the cup to feel the warmth. "I started thinking the way she does, you know. Day to day is as far as it gets in my mind lately. She has always been the most important part of my life, meaning that I don't know what it is to have a life without her. I am scared shitless to think about that opportunity. Because it's unreal to me."

Susan nods, but puts her hand on top op Brittany's shoulder to offer some compassion.

"You'll be fine. You'll pick up the pieces and you'll be fine."

That's easier said than done. But what is a person supposed to say?

"Except I won't. Even when we broke up and I moved on, it's like - she always had some sort of power over me. Like she was never really gone. I dated girls and boys, then I met Christopher, but I swear: it never felt right. She's been the love of my life ever since we met in kindergarten. No other person came even close to rising a spark inside of me the way she did - still does. I'm afraid that once she dies, I'll never allow myself to fall in love again. I've had the opportunity before, and I was angry enough - heartbroken enough - to actually believe in it. And nothing ever happened. Nobody is as matching as she is."

Susan likes this romantic side of her friend. She has always believed in the power of their love. The power that, no matter what, Santana and Brittany would make it through everything.

"So you're saying you'll never move on? You should, for her. It's what she'd want."

Brittany shrugs and tears up immediately. Thing is: she doesn't _want_ to move on. She'd be happy lying in bed all day, crying until the sun comes up, just thinking about Santana. But of course she can't do that.

"I'm going to miss her forever, which scares me tremendously. It's gonna hurt, every step of the way and every second of the hours that'll pass. And I swear that I'll continue to live life to the fullest: I'll go on holidays and work hard to accomplish goals. I'll be that kick-ass editor she dreamt me to be. I'm going to have that baby we talked about and raise that little person to be a perfect little creature. But I will never love anyone as passionately as I love her. With such commitment and dedication. And you know what? That's okay with me. Because I've had her. And it was a privilege."

The blonde stands up and walks away. She leaves her best friend sitting silently. Susan heaves a deep sigh and shakes her head: this situation is utterly fucked.

* * *

"Are you afraid?" Santana asks with a soft, faint voice.

It seems like talking hurts. The blonde puts her soft fingers on the damaged lips of her wife. She kisses her temple and crawls on the bed, next to her, just to hold her tight. It makes Santana smile. Anything for a smile these days.

"I'm scared that I'll miss you forever and I'm scared that I won't. I'm scared that every second of my life from now on will be controlled by the memories of you, with grief over you, with missing you. At the same time, I'm scared I'll forget you, or little things about you. That one day, I'll wake up in the morning and not think of you the very first second I open my eyes."

Santana slowly moves her fingers up and down Brittany's bare forearm. She likes the touch of her. And her smell. Lots of her senses have been disabled for some reason, but she can still smell her. Vanilla cream.

"It's okay to sometimes think about other things than me, babe," she whispers. "When I'm gone, I won't be in your life anymore. That doesn't mean you have to stop living too. It just means that … it'll be hard. And yes, I hope that you'll think of me when you wake up, and when you go to bed. And sometimes even in between. But I won't hate you if you don't. I could never hate you."

Brittany wraps her arms around the fragile body a little bit tighter, as if she's afraid to let go. Her heartbeat increases, just like the level of fear sneaking up on her. She can't believe all the conversations they've been having lately. All those words about death. And funerals.

"We had so many dreams together, sweetie. You and me were supposed to …"

But she chokes before the words are said. Santana just nods, while concentrating on her breathing. That little tube in her nose has been bugging her ever since they gave it to her, but it's necessary. Breathing doesn't come as easily anymore. Nothing does. If only the medication would work. If only the experiments and efforts paid off.

"Dreams disappear when you wake up," Santana eventually reveals the secret.

But Brittany disagrees: "They don't when I wake up next to you."

They are so close together that their heartbeats are aligned. Santana's is soft, while Brittany's pounding through her chest.

"Remember our wedding?" the blonde suddenly wonders.

Santana nods quietly. How could she ever forget. It was the most beautiful day of her life. She had the honor of marrying the most gorgeous woman on this earth.

"I especially remember the party. _And_ the afterparty," Santana mischievously smirks in silent pain.

"Our wedding night," Brittany nods with a big smile. "That was epic. And the night after our wedding night too. Except for your granddad walking in on us."

Santana snorts and accidentally loses her nose tube for a second. Brittany's careful fingers put it back in place.

"I am so glad I married you, Santana," she tells her. "I am so proud to call you my wife."

The Latina closes her eyes briefly and allows the compliment to sink in.

"Well, you did marry a Victoria's Secret Angel. That's quite the achievement," she brags.

So sick, still strong enough to be sassy. Brittany rolls over and kisses the side of Santana's lips. Normally, she's the one getting that kind of kisses.

"When you walked down that isle - my heart stopped beating," Brittany admits. "You looked so beautiful. Even now, you are still gorgeous."

"I'm not," Santana objects with a sense of self-loathing.

But Brittany puts her hand on top of Santana lips to make her stop talking.

"Shut up. You are gorgeous. You have the most enchanting eyes. I get lost in them every single time - it's distracting. And you have the biggest, brightest smile. The most perfect lips to kiss. The softest voice in the world. And the way you scrunch your face when you laugh over my ridiculous jokes is super cute. And -"

She bends over to whisper in Santana's ear teasingly as her hands crawl up to Santana's chest.

"- you have the nicest set of tits I've ever seen."

She squeezes them briefly. Santana grins in a naughty way and then cups Brittany's face.

"Remarkable, how you can make a cancer patient believe she's still beautiful," she says thankfully.

Brittany shakes her head: "With you it's easy. I don't even have to try."

They kiss, tenderly and soft on the lips this time. Santana realizes she could die a happy woman kissing Brittany. She pants, because she's getting tired.

"I am kind of sorry that you never got to use some of your lame pick-up lines on me. We never really dated, did we? We just went from being little kids to being best friends to being girlfriends," Brittany suddenly realizes. "God, you had such stupid lines when you talked to boys in high school."

Santana's weak arm pushes her to object: "Because boys _are_ stupid. Secretly, I just wanted you."

"Nice one," Brittany tells her with a proud nod. "How did you seduce all your colleague models?"

It takes a while before her wife can answer that question. First of all, she needs to inhale sharply before she can talk. Plus, thing is, that industry is just really weird. Normal doesn't apply to those people. And not just the models - Santana's been with singers and artists too.

"You don't really seduce them. You just randomly ask while you're undressing after a shoot. The adrenaline of the job makes it a lot easier to cross your boundaries," Santana explains before coughing loudly.

The blonde's impressed and wiggles her nose: "Like handing out candy sticks, huh?"

"Something like that," Santana playfully smirks.

Her eyes quickly turn tired again. Being awake for longer than ten minutes seems unrealistic lately. Memories suddenly bring her back to the actual wedding part. Warm, tropical Mexico. All their friends and family. Sand under their feet and a sea breeze dancing with their hair. It was magical. Everything about the spontaneous event was magical.

"Want to know a little secret about our wedding?" Santana mysteriously whispers.

She closes her eyes and softly smiles. Brittany's going to love this. It's time she knows.

"What about it?"

"You always complain that I'm the only one - apart from Rick - that met Spencer Riddick," Santana says, though her words are separated by short gasps for breath. "On several occasions."

Brittany frowns and lifts her head to look at Santana's peaceful face: "Yes?"

"He was the officiator. He's the one that married us. Rick asked him to. So you did meet him - you just didn't know."

Brittany's jaw drops as her back rises from the bed. What the hell? She doesn't even remember his face. Just the calmness of his voice, the tenderness when he addressed the couple. The way Santana smiled at him. That was Spencer Riddick? The mysterious fashion God? The legend itself?

"Are you kidding me? Even after meeting him, he remains a mystery?" Brittany points out. "Wow."

Santana opens her eyes again and caresses Brittany's hand.

"I'm sure there are pictures. Just never tell anyone."

The person next to her lovingly smiles and nods. It's a promise. Brittany runs the tips of her fingers up and down Santana body. They start at her temple and trace the figure of Santana's face down to her collarbone. They draw a soft line from her breasts to her loin. Then they move to the side of her body and slide back up. She needs to remember her. Her body. Her curves and her perfection. Santana enjoys the touch. She hasn't been touched like that in over a month. Lately, they just hug each other to sleep. Or Brittany sits in that uncomfortable chair while Santana coughs and throws up uncontrollably. Though she feels bad about it, it warms Santana's heart each time Brittany carelessly helps her to get out of the dirty clothes she puked on - even though the nurses offer to do it. When she has to pee, Brittany supports her all the way to the bathroom. It's not even a question, more of an intuition. Brittany's her rock. The one that's always been there.

"Thanks for never walking out on me, even when I was a bitch," Santana says.

She remembers a part of Brittany's wedding vows. The entire crowd had a laugh over it back then, but Santana knew exactly how serious her lover was at the time. The blonde nods. It comes naturally, staying with her. There hasn't been a single moment when she even thought about leaving.

"What about you? Think you'll still love me until infinity?"

A silence takes control of the room. This conversation suddenly shifts to a darker place. Because right now, thoughts about the afterlife appear. Behind all the gorgeousness she witnesses, there's the faint appearance of a dying person. There's the deterioration of Santana's health. And there's not a single thing to make it shift. Santana painfully inhales and nods.

"I have always loved you, Brittany. I don't know anything else. Wherever I'm going to after this, you'll be with me," she promises.

Brittany fights back some tears. She sits back up and pulls Santana in her warm embrace. Santana lifts her weak arms to wrap them around Brittany's waist. Her head rests on the familiar lap.

"Everything okay, sweetie?" the blonde wonders all concerned.

"I'm okay," Santana coughs with both eyes closed. "I'm ready. We might not have had the happily ever after with kids and puberty ruining our sex life … But for twenty two years, I've had you. That's rare. Even when we were apart, I always had you. The thought of that kept me alive for years. Our love has prepared me for a peaceful goodbye. That's the prettiest, most wonderful present anyone has ever given me. And I thank you from the bottom of my heart for showing me the true colors of love. I love you."

Brittany leans her head back against the metal frame of the bed and bites her teeth in order to keep it together. Her fingers stroke the designer bandana that's keeping Santana's bald scalp from being seen. Her girl is falling asleep. She's exhausted from their talk. She's exhausted from being awake. Even when George was here earlier, she barely moved a muscle. A lot of times, it seems like she's floating between unconsciousness and sleep.

Brittany's eyes keep focussed on her fingers - how they keep going back and forth over the piece of fabric on Santana's head. She hopes it'll calm her down, that it'll guide her to a more peaceful dream this time.

The room is deserted. Flowers aren't allowed, so the family hung up pictures of their gatherings to decorate it a little. The first are some of their wedding in Mexico. The girls look breathtakingly beautiful. Their outfits make them seem supernatural - fairylike. Paparazzi pictures of the proposal scene on the catwalk appear as well. Some of the images are them just strolling down the streets in New York on their way to a meeting. Busy and in a hurry, but still holding hands, as always. Susan, David and Eli and the two of them are combined at a party snap from a couple of years ago. Next, there's Eli and Jessy - and baby Macy. She's so big already in that family portrait. In the one far to the right, George, Eli and granddad sit around the table with the Pierce's during a family dinner. They all wave at the camera. Brittany smiles over the genuine laughter happening in the picture. Her parents look happy. Everyone does. Their first and last photoshoot together is in the center of all of their memories. Brittany's positioned on top of Santana and they suggestively stare into each other's eyes. God, they make a gorgeous couple. A perfect couple. It has been a wonderful life together.

"I gave everything up for you so easily," Brittany admittedly starts whispering after a long moment of silence.

She's uncertain if Santana can still hear her. The girl's heartbeat has slowed down, as has her breathing. She's probably asleep, even though nowadays you can't really be sure anymore. But that doesn't matter. Brittany needs this to be said. She needs to confess how she feels about her. About the life they've shared.

"I gave you _everything_ so easily. And now that I know the outcome, I've seen the path and the terrible ending … Santana, I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

She strokes the top of Santana's cute nose and mysteriously starts to smile. Santana's not responding anymore. She's drifted to another place, in her arms. She's far gone and Brittany's heart is breaking. It's breaking with the strength of an earthquake.

"I regret nothing," she whispers through her tears. "Not a single fight, not even your worst day. Because it was so easy, just being with you. So breathtakingly, utterly joyous, exhilaratingly, perfectly easy. And I've never been happier than when I was with you."

She bends over and barely makes it to kiss her wife's temple. Her head stays there a little longer. So absorb her touch, to memorize the sound of her breathing. And to whisper how much she loves her.

* * *

**I KNOW ... RIGHT?**

**But guys, I can't wait to hear your reactions after the NEXT chapter ...**


	22. Amaranth

**Chapter Twenty Two: Amaranth **

_2020_

* * *

Trembling fingers reach out to the clothes that are hanging in the forgotten closet at the good old Lopez mansion. David's eyes glare at the familiar pieces of fabric and, almost immediately, his breathing chokes. He hasn't cried yet. He can't. Because if he does, it'll never stop.

There's a scent flowing from the closet that reaches his nose after a few seconds. It's Santana's. A mixture of perfume and body lotion. She always smelt like cinnamon.

He clears his throat and orders himself to be strong. His dear uncle George shouldn't be burdened with cleaning the long lost closet of his daughter. Ever since she moved out, nobody else ever slept in this room. Now it's time. Time to clean up. Time to say goodbye.

His fingers reach the first shirt falling down a hanger and the touch startles his skin. Goosebumps take complete control of it. The brown haired guy squeezes the fabric in his fist as he steps back to heave a breath. The bed they spend countless hours on, watching movies or doing homework - because it's easier when you pair up - offers him support. He sits down on the amaranth purple sheets and presses the shirt against his face to absorb the odor. Every time he closes his eyes, she appears. Dancing, joking, posing, laughing. Santana has always been there. Ever since he was a little boy. When his mom died and Eli was too occupied with taking care of funeral arrangements, the five year old offered her comforting embrace so he could cry in the dark. He stood by her bed in Belgium, during that first round of chemo. Flying across the world to see her just two days seemed the most natural thing in the world. And now again, all those weeks at the hospital. He visited every day. He walked in, always just as optimistic and happy - even though it was fake - so she wouldn't lose hope.

His eyes start tearing up. Soon, heartbreaking sounds of crying reverberate through the room. It's muffled by the shirt he's holding close to his face. The grown up guy crawls into fetal position and now that he started crying, it appears that he can't stop anymore.

Julia walks into the room and remains quiet. Her eyes are red from quietly crying too. Uncertain about the appropriate thing to do, she decides to make her way over to her boyfriend. She sits down next to him and lays her hand on the back of his neck. He doesn't look up. He just keeps sobbing uncontrollably. Her hands pull his body closer until he finally gives in and crashes on her chest. His eyes are flaring red. The blue shirt he's holding is soaking wet. Julia's tender fingers run through his curls while she makes shushing noises to calm him down. David is heartbroken. And there's nothing she can do to help him.

* * *

Surrounded by a group of children and their caretakers, an old man inhales the coldness of the wind. His bald head reflects the little rays of sunlight that keeps the earth warm. His eyes stare into the nothingness while his body feels numb. The entire world feels numb. There's rock bottom. Then there's sixty shades of mourning. And then there's him.

To his right, a young girl - she must be six years old - drags her best friend to the nearby swing. They mount it and wiggle their feet until their bodies start moving through the air. Childish shrieks reach his ears, but the sound doesn't please him. No, it makes his heart break even more. Because it's the sound his little girl used to make when she was little. He'd drag her to this playground and put her on the wooden shelf so her feet no longer touched the ground. For a second, she'd panic, but then his hands would find their way to her chubby cheeks and he'd tell her it'll all be okay.

A lost tear slides down his cheek. It's the first one in a while. Crying stopped somewhere last week. There's nothing left anymore. After the loss of his wife, George assumed that the worst already happened to him. Losing the woman he adored was like literally taking his heart away from his body. But then he looked down at the squirming, shrieking creature they had produced. She was small and fragile - searching for someone to hold her. She felt alone and scared. His grief had taken a part of his reasoning up until then. When he looked into her deep brown eyes, it hit him: this person became his responsibility the minute she was born. This person was in dire need of his protection from now until forever: the first bottle of milk she'd get, the first word she'd ever say - it was _daddy_ \- and the first steps she'd take. All up to the moment when she walked down that isle to marry the woman she fell in love with. Something changed right there. Part of his responsibilities seemed to have ended the second she swore eternal devotion to her significant other. But he was wrong: a dad's job is never done. George's job was never done.

A cute, little kid walks over to the lost man on the bench. His ball rolled all the way to the fancy, expensive shoes that haven't moved in minutes. It has the color of amaranth. When the child picks it up, his innocent green eyes flare up at George's broken ones.

"Are you alright, Sir?" the young voice asks all concerned.

George finally faces him and snaps out of his confusion.

"I'm fine, boy. Don't worry about me," he softly assures him.

The tiny hands twirl the ball around a couple of times before kindly smiling.

"Do you want to play some football?" the kid offers.

George chuckles and shakes his head calmly. This is the example of innocence. A person too young to understand the cruelty of life, walking up to a troubled grownup to clear his mind.

"I'm too old to play football, kiddo," George sighs with a half smile. "But …"

He points at the old swing that brings back all sorts of memories and notices how the boy follows the direction of his fingers.

"… whenever you feel like using that one over there, just call me. Okay?"

The curly, charming boy starts nodding. He says bye and runs back to his other friends to continue the football game they were playing. George follows his movements and heaves a sobering sigh.

* * *

"Did you bring it?" Dr. Greer wonders.

He turns around and faces the disorientated blonde he met a couple of days before. Brittany looks up to him, with teary eyes, and nods. The last few days have been horrible. Unreal. Extraordinary. She has her hair tightly pulled back into a ponytail. All she's wearing is some jeans and a blouse. There's a little note in her hands. It's been folded and unfolded multiple times. The edges show signs of usage. There are little ruptures and creases. When Dr. Greer examines her eyes, he notices just how swollen and red they are.

"Are you … ready to do this?"

After a long pause, Brittany clears her throat. Her fingers fiddle with the white note. It's a speech. The one she's dreaded. The one she never wished to rehearse in the mirror and speak out loud in front of a crowd. Her head starts nodding almost invisibly.

Dr. Greer sits down on the sofa across his patient. His observing nature catches her nervousness - the way she uncomfortably glances through the room, from one object to another. When her hasty stare suddenly freezes, it's oriented at the amaranth-colored vase on the white cabinet to her right. If Santana were here, she'd feel the urge to smash it to pieces. Right now, she feels the same.

Her fingers wrinkle the paper once more and suddenly, she starts to read the words that have been written down some days ago.

"I stand here on this incredibly sad day to say goodbye to the love of my life. Santana Lopez. The first time I ever laid eyes on her, I knew she was about to change everything I had ever believed in. Of course, I was merely five, so I had big dreams, big expectations. But that didn't matter - she fulfilled them all. We started off in kindergarten, with Miss Jocelyn. She walked over to me and said: 'You're going to be my best friend!'. She was right. By the time we found ourselves in love, we were both just like: 'Oh, okay, that makes sense'. There was no drama, no fear of what we were going through, no doubt. She just smiled at me and it calmed my heart. Because how was this soul not meant to connect with mine on a deeper level? How could it be wrong to fall in love with your best friend? It's a privilege, you see. She was without a doubt the funniest person I've ever met. No one has ever made me laugh harder than she did. She knew that, and she enjoyed it."

Brittany pauses to catch her breath. After watching her own shaking hands for a while, a mysterious smile surfaces.

"I remember, just a few weeks ago, she was telling me a joke or something, and while she was explaining it to me, she started laughing uncontrollably. There were tears in her eyes, her nose was all curled up with joy, she held her hand on top of her small, shaking chest - it was such a beautiful thing to witness. Anyway, I never did get the end of the joke, since she just couldn't finish it without bursting out into laughter. I loved that about her."

The paper shows stains of ink-smudging tears. She has read it out loud before. She knows the words by heart. She remembers the moments they describe like they happened yesterday.

"In all fairness, I don't have many bad memories of her. Not even from the time that she got really, really sick. Somehow, I always believed she refused to show me that weaker side of her, to keep me from getting too scared to let her go. But I _was_ scared; watching her slip away from me was the scariest thing I'v ever been through. Losing her is losing nearly every awaking moment of my life, losing the most important person since kindergarten. And I feel lost."

Dr. Greer patiently analyses her controlled breathing. Her eyes are imprinted on the paper as if her life depends on it. It strikes him what a beautiful reading voice this girl has - even though it's overcome with emotions.

"I don't really know what I'm supposed to tell you about her. Everyone that ever met her must have this image in mind about who she was. All that I can reassure in front of all of you is that she was - without a doubt - kind, loving, stubborn, persistent, warm, energetic, enchanting, gorgeous and magical. That she was the love of my life. That she's taken away from me way too soon. But there's not a second, not a silly fight, not a hard moment in her battle against this hideous disease that I regret. Every single moment I got to spend with her was a gift from above."

Her chest rises as a long, deep breath of air cuts through her lungs. The room is too quiet. The therapist's too quiet.

"Knowing that, knowing that she loved me with everything she had to offer, I can find peace in trusting that whatever lies ahead for her from here, she'll do it with her natural grace, her all-knowing fierceness, her classic beauty and her infinite heart. And if she's patient enough, when my time will come, I hope she'll be waiting for me. To kiss me on the side of my lips, like she always did."

Suddenly, it feels like that sensation of Santana's lips on her skin magically appears again. It makes Brittany smile nostalgically. It doesn't even hurt this time.

"Santana, babe," she sniffs through her tears, "you haven't been gone for a whole week and it already feels like I can't breathe, like the air is missing from my lungs. I have never missed anyone this intensely, this much. And I promise, as time will go by, that feeling will never stop."

After wiping her tears away and looking over at the compassionate Mr. Greer, Brittany leaves the office in a hurry. She doesn't say another word.

She goes home to gather the bags that are packed for her departure. Susan waits at the car downstairs, while the concierge loads them in the trunk. It's been a hard couple of days. After giving it some thought, it became clear that a time-out was necessary. Brittany needs to get away for a while. Staying in the apartment all alone, without Santana, just torments her every awaking second. Friends come and go, but their lives has continued.

A heart-broken Rick Spencer called in some favors - so did Eleanor and William - and there's an awesome opportunity as head editor for Michael Kahn's new movie Brittany simply can't refuse. This is it, everything she ever worked hard for. The chance of a lifetime. And right now, the perfect distraction. It doesn't excite her as much as it should, though. Frankly, thinking back, Brittany would give up her experience in Stanford and all her hard work and dedication of the last few years. She'd trade it all, or toss it off a bridge, if that means she could've spent that four missing, lonely years with Santana. Even though she was sick and struggling. Even though they may have been just as awful and depressing as the last few months. Just to see that smile from time to time. Or the spark in her eyes whenever Brittany walked into the room. She'd even give it up just to watch her sleep. She'd give it up for one more second in her arms.

Susan rubs her back to express her genuine compassion and asks her if she'll be alright. Brittany can't answer that. At least not yet. Her eyes turn back to the apartment building that was her home for so long. She turns to the street to remember the movement of the cars, the few trees that decorate the place. The turn to the right where that fountain lies ahead - the one they trashed a long time ago. The flow of memories are too much to handle. She realizes it.

"I won't be coming back here for a while," Brittany calmly utters. "Maybe for a _long_ while. Maybe never. It's just too hard, you know. And I'm not sure if it'll ever get easier."

Susan nods. She understands. Not another word is being said. The girls hug for a solid minute and part with a deep sigh. That's when the blonde gets into the car. She opens her purse to stare at the picture she keeps inside of it. It's a memory of an AA-meeting. She sighs and then forgets to breathe for a while.

* * *

"Brittany."

A soft, familiar voice forces her to open her eyes. It's early and the blonde's completely overwhelmed by her level of tiredness. She sniffs loudly and blinks a few time before staring at the ceiling. It feels like her heart is broken. Like her body is broken. Like the world is broken.

"Brittany!"

She inhales some air and can't help but feeling lost. When did she fall asleep? What is this place? Who's that person talking to her?

Suddenly, she recognizes the voice that's loudly addressing her. Brittany jumps up from the blanket and turns around to look into brown intriguing eyes that have stared at her for years. It's Santana. It's actually her. Alive. She's alive. And Brittany has never felt this confused.

Her blurry mind makes her shake her head with confusion. Her heart is racing. Is she drunk? Did she finally go insane?

"It was a dream," she mutters, all shaken up after realizing she just woke up.

She runs some fingers through her hair and realizes how she can't stop staring at her wife. Heavy breathing concerns the Latina.

"What was a dream?"

Brittany crawls closer to Santana and touches the caramel skin. Just a minute ago, she dreamt about never feeling that sensation ever again. Now she's close to having a heart attack over it.

"What is it?" her model wonders, clearly sensing something's wrong.

But Brittany just shakes her tired head and remains quiet. Her heart is racing. It's nothing. It'll all fine. That horrible feeling of being completely and utterly lost, it was fake. It was just a dream.

Brittany's hand caresses every inch of Santana's face. She has to, or she'll go mad.

"You need to get up," Santana orders her eventually. "By the way, you've been sleeping on my arm all night. It's numb."

She wiggles her shoulder, but her arm remains stiff. It's cute enough to make the blonde smile. The hideous aftermath of the nightmare keeps creeping up on her, though. It's there, as a reminder.

"Why do I need to get up?" she suddenly asks while clearing her throat.

She gets up on her feet and coughs. The hospital room is exactly the same. The wires and the tubes - the machines and the constant beeping. She's strangely excited to be here.

"Dr. De Weerdt texted me. He's going to be here in a few minutes."

That's right. Santana and Dr. De Weerdt on are _texting terms_. Special little supermodel privilege. The man flies around the world to treat her, he can at least give her his phone number.

The excitement confuses Brittany. Because Santana hasn't looked excited in weeks.

"What is it?"

"I don't know," Santana admits. "But I have this strange feeling."

She forces herself to sit up straight and moans in pain. To her, it might as well resemble jumping out of bed. Brittany puts her hand behind Santana weak back and can't help but kissing her wife on the cheek. It feels even better than she remembered.

"Let's get you cleaned up, sweetie," she whispers in her ear.

She puts her other arm around Santana's shoulder and hugs her intensely. This weird behavior is starting to freak the Latina out, but she's too touched to ask Brittany what's going on.

Brittany walks over to the cabinet at the other end of the room and grabs some stuff to take care of her wife. A washing cloth, a towel, some bowl filled with water and a fresh pajamas. The nurses can easily take care of this, but it's not even an option. This is why they got married: to take care of each other - for better or for worse. In sickness and in health. And after the dream she just had, being able to wash Santana and help her brush her teeth sort of feels like a privilege.

* * *

Dr. De Weerdt walks in all confident. The way he roams the place makes Santana's face light up. This chubby guy has been her savior before. Even if she won't make it this time, he'll forever be her hero. Because he gave her a second chance. A second life - one that led her back to Brittany eventually.

"I was going to ask you to sit down," he starts saying in his gentle voice, "but then again, you're already on the bed."

A little joke to lighten the stressed atmosphere. Brittany holds on to Santana hand tightly, like she's afraid to let go. In theory, she actually is. The doctor is holding some papers. He starts waving them up in the air before walking over to the bed. Once there, he sits down on the side, in a very familiar way. He heaves an enormously deep sigh and then looks straight into Santana's eyes. His expression shows a lot of sympathy, a lot of empathy. They have shared quite the roller coaster ride. Ups and downs, successes and failures. Not once, Santana blamed him. In fact, there was this constant belief in his abilities - his talent. His warm left hand searches Santana's and suddenly, a soft smile takes over his entire face.

"I need to show you something," he hesitantly tells her.

Brittany just stands there, completely frozen to their side. She has no idea what's going on. Dr. De Weerdt is a gentle man, always has been. But this compassionate behavior means nothing, it's just the way he is. Is it bad news? Is it the mastermind, finally delivering the news that the end is coming? Was her dream some sort of prophecy? She analyzes his small, brown eyes but reads nothing. Her heart is racing, but that's probably nothing compared to her wife, who's just anxiously awaiting his next words.

The doctor opens the file and puts the papers on Santana's lap. The blonde bends over to sneak a peek. They don't really learn a lot, most of it are vital signs and abbreviations. There are numbers and colors that could mean anything.

"Look at these graphs," a calm voice starts to explain, while pointing at the middle of the page.

The girls hold their heads close together and both frown. Next to his finger, there's a small bar that contains all the colors of the rainbow. Like it's an indication. The little arrow above is located far to the right of the bar.

"What is it?" Santana silently wonders.

"Look at the results. They are amaranth - purple-ish. That's good. Amaranth means it's good."

Brittany blinks and goes searching for a memory. Something tells her she's seen this color before.

"I don't understand," she mumbles after a while.

Dr. De Weerdt looks up to her and shows her his most radiant smile.

"This is my test. My index whether or not treatment is going well. These last few weeks, we've pretty much tried everything, haven't we?"

Santana nods. The constant puking and nearly-dying was a pretty good lesson to remember. The man in front of her enthusiastically jumps off the bed and holds up his hands to demonstrate his explanation.

"Well, I can't explain it. I don't know why _you_ and not others, I don't know _how_ exactly, I don't know which combination or what exact dosage, but it's working. For some reason it's working. Your test results are better than they have been in months. After going down so badly, they are now going up."

The second it sinks in, Santana's chest starts moving up and down rapidly. She's breathing so fast, so uncontrollably that Brittany starts to worry. It's nothing bad, just an expression of utter happiness. Tears dominate her eyes and her worried wife wipes them from her cheeks as they stream down her face.

"It's working?" she hiccups in between unrestrained gasps for air.

Dr. De Weerdt is standing still right now and simply nods, completely proud of his accomplishments. The way she's exposing herself so fragile, so happy, warms his heart. She's been his most extraordinary case since he started saving lives. It pleases him just as much.

Brittany wraps her arms around his neck and thanks him from the bottom of his heart.

"I am so happy you had no idea what you were doing," she tells him.

He laughs over the lack of confidence that usually should express. When she turns back to the Latina, who seems to have calmed down again, her entire face lights up. Is this really happening? Is she allowed to spend a few more years with the love of her life? She walks over to her, cups both faint and skinny cheeks and kisses her on the mouth with so much love that the world seems to disappear for a while. There's no doctor in the room, no hospital bed, no tubes or wires.

As they part, Santana grasps onto Brittany's sleeve tightly. The blonde sits down on the bed next to her and lays her head back on the pillow to briefly come to her senses. When she sits back up, the file is still in front of her, on the blanket. She runs some fingers over the pages to make sure it's real and stares at the beautiful shade of purple just to be sure.

"Why amaranth?" Brittany curiously asks, like that even matters right now.

Santana doesn't get it. She doesn't even remember the doctor saying it before. But he does. He picked it out specifically to indicate success.

"In Greek mythology, the amaranth is a sacred flower. It represents immortality. They decorated images of Gods and tombs with it. The Chinese used it for its healing capacity. It heals infections and migraine. I thought that was pretty special."

Brittany's face lights up. The way Dr. De Weerdt describes the color warms her heart. Her fingers go searching for Santana's skin.

"So amaranth is good," the model wonders, still not sure why they are having this conversation.

Dr. De Weerdt stares into her eyes and demonstrates his typical half smile: "Amaranth is very good."

* * *

"I can't believe it all turned out like this," Brittany sighs relieved after walking through the front door of their beloved apartment with Julia. "I can't believe we have an actual shot at the future."

She's been lucky. Santana's been lucky. When she turns around, David pushes the wheelchair Santana is in into the apartment. Her health has improved so much over the last couple of weeks, she's finally allowed to leave the hospital. Medication, through injections and pills, should close the deal on becoming her old self again. Her hair is actually already starting to grow back. Just not enough to leave her wig behind. But Dr. De Weerdt has been very specific: it's crucial Santana remains calm and rests a lot. If she starts running around or working too soon, it might backfire. Brittany solemnly swore to tie her down if she had to. Santana made a useless remark about how sexy that could be and Dr. De Weerdt secretly smiled over her comment.

When the wheels stop turning next to the couch, Brittany carefully supports her wife to crawl into the couch. A tired whistle welcomes Santana home. Her couch. Oh, she loves this piece of furniture. She has spend days on it, doing absolutely nothing and it was _amazing_.

Julia and David drag the bags the concierge put in the hallway into the bedroom and dreamingly observe the way the married women handle each other. The long fingers of the short-haired blonde points in their direction and David can't help but feel completely overwhelmed by a heartwarming feeling.

Santana leans back, but can't refrain from pulling Brittany on top of her. It makes the blonde shriek all excited.

"I mean it," Brittany repeats, "I can't believe it turned out like this."

"Well," the Latina whispers, like it's a secret, "I always get what I want, don't I?"

The bright blue eyes that are drowning in hers sparkle. Brittany has never looked more beautiful, never more pure and at ease. She's just so happy to have Santana back home again. Close to her - far away from that hospital.

"So, I've been thinking," Santana continues.

She pulls Brittany closer to her chest, not that that's even possible, and mysteriously smiles.

"What?"

An observant Julia keeps a returning David from interrupting the moment and pulls him back to the bathroom to further empty some bags.

"We've been together for years," Santana clarifies.

Brittany nods like it's been a burden: "_So_ many years."

She gets poked after she mischievously smirks. A soft peck makes it all better.

"And we're married. We have a house we call a home. We both have very successful careers."

A proud blonde nods, but it's not like her career means anything compared to having the love of her life underneath her right now.

"That's correct," she confirms. "Don't forget the cancer thingy."

"Oh, right," Santana playfully recalls. "There was this cancer."

"Also gone now," her wife quickly reminds her.

They stop moving and talking for a split second. That realization is so fragile, so objective, so quickly changeable. But that doesn't matter now. They could cross the street and get run over by a car tomorrow. So they both readjusted their awareness of being alive. Every new day without cancer is a gift, and they'll appreciate it from now on.

"But you've been thinking …" Brittany wiggles her eyebrows all curious.

This promises to be good. Whenever Santana implies a serious conversation, it quickly turns to epic proportions. Conveniently, Santana is wearing a red top.

Santana seems to have forgotten about her thoughts, so she quickly shakes her head to clear some space and kisses the tips of Brittany's slim fingers.

"When I get better and stronger again," she elaborates while dreaming about the near future, "how about we finally start a family? We've had an amazing life, just you and I. We spend years doing all the things we wanted to do. We went on holidays and stayed in bed all day if we felt like doing nothing else. I think we enjoyed life enough to move on from that. So, I decided to start, like, a new bucket list thing. And that's number one."

Brittany's breathing chokes momentarily. Is Santana Lopez really discussing this with her? The famous, traveling-crazy, adventure-searching model?

"You want to have _babies_?"

Her voice sounds all excited. It's not like she didn't expect this to happen one day, it's just that she always assumed she'd be the one bringing it up. And with Santana being sick and all …

The dark-haired beauty strokes the skin of Brittany's chest and nods without looking at her.

"Yeah. Someday. I want to have babies with you. A lot."

That image feels good. Great, actually. Brittany puts her head on Santana's boobs and listens to her heartbeat. It's stronger again - more determinate. She sighs the most careless sigh she's uttered in months.

"We'll have babies," she whispers. "And toddlers. And teenagers. And teenage daughter boyfriends. Or _girlfriends_."

Santana puts both fingers in her ears and orders Brittany to stop. She didn't want to go there yet. Let her have a peaceful fantasy of another carefree sixteen years before that horrible dating thing happens. It's already written in stone: Santana will kill whoever dares to kiss her children. Boy or girl.

"Maybe we should buy a house with Eli and David. Then all of our children can grow up together like we did," the Latina teasingly implies.

Brittany crawls on her knees and fists and looks at her in panic.

"Are you crazy? I've spent many, many years with you guys. I finally got rid of all the men, won the girl, didn't die after marrying her - despite the curse - and now you want me to move in with them _again_?"

It's not angry or completely objecting, more to have a good laugh about it - but still. Santana pats her shoulders and shushes her. Of course she was kidding.

"Shut up, silly. My family is great. Our kids would _love_ growing up with a pack of wolves," she stresses, feeling protective of her own childhood.

They shut op for a while and get lost in romantic staring.

"So … A new bucket list, huh?" Brittany gasps anxiously.

"I didn't get to finish my first one, which is totally fine. I didn't die in the arms of the one I love. But the thing is: if I finished it now, there'd be no more expectations. There'd be no more life goals. So yes, I will die in your arms one day. But I forget to write my preferred age next to that desire."

Brittany smiles over the complete nonchalance Santana puts into her sentence about dying.

"What is it?"

Santana shrugs: "I don't know yet. But it certainly isn't now."

This conversation has gotten Brittany all curious. Her eyebrows wiggle suggestively and Santana fesses up. What's number two on that list?

"I also want to have sex with you in a car."

But that ignites a ridiculing laughter: "Yeah, because we've never done that before!"

"Sarcasm, much?" Santana scoffs. "No, No. I mean with the driver still in it."

Brittany's eyes light up with surprise and she gasps for air: "Oh."

The doorbell rings and David shouts he'll get it. A couple of seconds later, Susan dramatically enters the room. She's holding some bottles of alcohol-free champagne to celebrate the return of her most famous friend. Santana can't drink.

Brittany amusingly sits up straight and puts her wife's feet on her lap. She massages the tiny toes that are wrapped with warm socks. After Brittany notices the presence of her favorite couple in the world in the room, she winks at Julia and David, without Santana realizing it.

"About that moving in with your cousins, though. Veto!" she continues her battle for a private home.

Santana curiously raises her brow.

"You know what it'd be like, living with not just one but two supermodels?" the blonde explains.

Julia laughs from a distance and Santana suddenly realizes how all of it is just a joke. The two guests accompany them and sit down on the nearby couch. They stay really close to each other and the girls think it's adorable. Shouldn't take long before little babies pop up in that house as well. At the same time, Susan returns from the kitchen with some glasses. Everyone in their little circle of friends knows their way around this place. It's a self-service kind of friendship. You want something? You go to the fridge and take it.

The beauty fills the glasses with her special, sparkling beverage and proposes a toast. The second she's about to open her mouth to probably start rambling the most ridiculous speech ever, the doorbell rings again. David jumps to his feet and returns with his brother, his little niece and his sister-in-law. Macy's asleep in Eli's arms, so he walks over to the bedroom and puts her down on the kingsize bed. Her curly blond hairs are so cute it makes Brittany's heart melt.

They all hug and kiss to say hi. A frustrated Susan goes searching for more glasses. This hosting thing isn't her best quality. It took a lot already to pick the alcohol-free bottles.

Julia heaves a content sigh and looks at her colleague with eyes that express compassion: "No but seriously. Santana, as much as I love you, I couldn't live with you for more than a week."

They once shared a hotel room in London. It left a mark.

"Neither do I," David admits.

Santana pushes her body up with both elbows and looks offended. He did for years, though.

Her wife shrugs and sighs: "Too late for me now."

The Latina's eyes turn vicious. What the hell? Eli sits down on the ground and looks up to Jessy, who's quietly sitting behind him on the couch. They mysteriously smile as they pick up on the teasing.

"You are a terrible cook," Julia explains.

David resumes: "You always put the music too loud."

"You throw with vases," Brittany specifically remembers. "Not to mention my favorite CDs."

Santana scoffs all offended: "That happened once."

Eli decides to play along and clacks his tongue: "You never take off your shoes when you walk in."

Jessy smiles over his comment. He's kind of a neat freak.

David points at the empty pots in the room: "You forget to water the plants."

"You are allergic to our dog," Julia smiles. "And I'm not leaving him."

"You sort of have a criminal record," Eli seems to remember.

Santana's jaw drops. It was just a fine! Not even an official complaint. When exactly did this turn into a personal vendetta?

Susan rolls her eyes over what just happened downstairs: "The paparazzi follows your ass everywhere."

"You never clean up the bathroom," Brittany whispers while closing both eyes as if it's a tragedy. "Or any other room."

Jessy sips from her glass and wiggles her nose.

"I never really lived with you, but I can tell you need too much closet space."

David clears his throat and pulls a weird face while remembering certain aspects of their childhood: "You like to run around half naked."

But Brittany corrects him with exciting, approving eyes: "Or totally naked."

Finally, Julia holds up her hands to express the final verdict: "And I didn't mean to ever mention this, but you and Brittany have way too much sex, way too loud."

Eli sighs away his desperation and memories invade his mind: "Everywhere."

They all raise their glasses and have a big gulp. That's when Santana starts laughing uncontrollably.

"Fuck you all," she snorts through some tears of joy.

She glares through the room and finds nothing but smiling faces. This is it. This is why she fought. To see her wife so carelessly happy. To have her best friends gathered around the coffee table. To have little baby Macy sleeping in the nearby room. For the first time in a while, nothing seems to bother her. She couldn't care less about her fashion line or the modeling industry at this exact moment. That'll be worries for later - next month or if it takes even longer, that's no tragedy. Just like Brittany, work doesn't seem so relevant anymore. It's a thing to keep yourself occupied with. Luckily, it's a passion, something that drives them. But the most important things in life are all seated around this place. They are talking to each other and having a laugh over stupid comments. They don't mention Santana's health every other minute or remind her of how close to death she came. No, they tease her. They love to get a rise out of her. They treat her for who she is: that little, snarky girl from a quiet town just outside of Los Angeles. And she absolutely loves it.

Brittany unconsciously slips her fingers through Santana's while talking to Jessy about Macy. Two curious brown eyes linger over the connection, the way Brittany's slim fingers carefully stroke the caramel tone so softly it almost could be missed. Her heart starts racing for no reason. She turns her head to memorize Brittany's profile. That woman used to be the little girl in kindergarten she walked up to. She saw her from across the room and raised an eyebrow all intrigued. Two little ponytails decorated the sides of Brittany's cute face. She wore a loose, floral dress and shinny, black shoes. George lost the grip of his daughter's hand the second Santana decided to walk over to the blonde and introduce herself. She was five, but cocky as hell. That never changed. Brittany was quiet and cute as hell. That also never changed.

"I'm Santana. You're going to be my best friend," she confidently said with that stereotypical half smile she carries whenever she has set her eyes on something - as if it was a promise - an oath.

And man, did she.

* * *

**The End**

* * *

**My friends, it's been an honor writing for such wonderful people. *bows***

**The support and amazing response coming from you guys, chapter after chapter, completely moved me.**

**I hope you enjoyed AA-meetings, even though it might have been in a rather sadistic way ;)**

**I loved writing it. I loved every second of it. It's been quite the journey, hasn't it? This might have been the hardest thing I ever wrote.**

**Thank you all for being there, for reading it, for leaving wonderful reviews.**

**This is the final chapter of this story. Luckily, Santana and Brittany have an entire future ahead of them ;)**

**Please, can I please also refer you to my newly launched website ...**

**I put my stories on it, AA-meetings and Captured, though in a different format to attract other readers. I hope you'll check it out and support it ;) Thanks a lot in advance.**

**I love you all. See you at my next fic ;)**


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